Anger Management
by scoutergreen
Summary: Struggling with poor mental health in the years after the Cell Games, Vegeta's depression and anger bring him down to rock bottom when the Saiyan finds himself in serious legal trouble. When Vegeta is required to attend therapy as part of his sentence, he is presented with opportunities to develop new coping strategies and repair his relationship with Bulma. But can he?
1. Chapter 1

Anger Management

By scoutergreen

I'm back, bitches! With a new story, too! Thanks for being so patient during my hiatus, and I hope you enjoy the first short chapter of "Anger Management".

I will also resume updating my other fics as well.

Chapter 1

When the loud click of stiletto heels passed the living room and finally came to a rest on the adjacent kitchen tile floors, Vegeta rolled over onto his stomach and covered himself with the plush black blanket he'd used for sleeping over the last several days.

"Where is Vegeta? Mom, have you seen him?" Bulma's tone was edgy with anger and the clicking of the high heels resumed.

"Not this morning, honey," Mrs. Briefs voice was sweet as always, "why don't you sit down? He might have gone out..."

Bulma scoffed and the heel clicking came into the living room. "Like he'd go out," she snarled, "all he does is laze around and occupy space," she moved back into the kitchen and finally sat down, "like a one hundred and thirty pound lump of useless. I need to talk to him, and he'd better listen if he knows what's good for him. I've just about had it with him and this funk he's in! He needs to get it together!"

The quiet scrape of knives and forks on plates. Bulma lit a cigarette and Vegeta could smell the secondhand smoke through the thick blanket covering him from head to toe. He realized with at least a little amusement that his wife hadn't been able to see him underneath the blankets because the black leather of the couch blended perfectly with the blanket.

"I'm here," Vegeta threw back the blanket and sat up, eyes stinging as they took in the bright morning sunlight, "what do you want?"

Startled, Bulma choked on her cigarette smoke and a large puff of smoke pushed past her lips all at once, "did you sleep on the couch again, Vegeta? You look like hell! Are those the same clothes, again?"

Heaving a raspy sigh, Vegeta pushed himself off the furniture he'd been occupying for the last several days and walked into the kitchen, feeling as though he had to drag himself in there.

"What's it to you? Just get off my case," Vegeta wanted to snarl, but his voice was barely above a whisper. He went to the refrigerator, pulled open the door, and grabbed the first thing he saw- a large bottle of whole milk.

Dropping into a seat at the kitchen table, Vegeta twisted open the cap and took a long sip from the bottle. He wasn't hungry, but Vegeta felt that his stomach was empty and knew that he needed to consume at least something before he started feeling really ill. Bulma's voice started up again, but he could only somewhat hear her as he tried to recall the last thing he had eaten; what had it been, and when? Had it been the tortilla with a smear of jam, or had it been the can of lemonade? When exactly had he consumed that small yellow apple in thin slices? Had he really eaten a salami sandwich one afternoon, or had that been a dream?

"Oh, whatever," he finally whispered before taking another long sip.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?!" Bulma snarled and stubbed her cigarette into an ashtray with enough force to shake the table, snapping Vegeta back into reality.

"Nothing, nothing," Vegeta stammered, trying to piece together what exactly he had missed before his wife started screaming at him again. She was always so angry with him, and he was just too exhausted to try and decipher what was so wrong and what exactly he'd done to make her so angry in the first place.

"Did you hear any of what I just said? Anything at all?" Bulma lit another cigarette and made no effort to direct the smoke away from Vegeta's face as she exhaled.

The Saiyan shrugged. "Obviously not."

"First of all," began Bulma, "you look, and smell, like absolute hell. When is the last time you showered?"

"The ninth," he recalled, "I saw it on the calendar."

Mrs. Briefs sighed and stood up to get her son-in-law a cup of coffee. He really was starting to smell bad. She had mentioned the day before that there was plenty of clean clothing and a fresh bottle of the minty shampoo he preferred waiting for him upstairs, but all he did was grunt in response before rolling over on the couch.

"Ew," Bulma sneered, "it's the thirteenth, Vegeta! You need to shower, and that's not a request! Do you have any idea how bad you smell? The couch probably smells as bad as you do at this point!"

Again, Vegeta sighed. He finished the remaining pint of milk in three long sips and then twisted the cap back on the top.

"Second of all, you're supposed to drink from a glass! What have I told you about that? Trunks notices everything you do, and I am trying my best to ensure he doesn't pick up your table manners, Vegeta! It's bad enough that he notices what's going on as it is! Do you think your son really doesn't notice what's wrong with you?"

"Then what do you want me to say, woman? Please, tell me, so you can stop exhausting me with your bitching!" Vegeta's voice grew louder and clenched his fists, fighting the urge to punch the table.

"I don't want you say anything! I want you to take a shower, put on some fresh clothes, and for the love of God, DO SOMETHING with yourself today! Do you know what phrase your son kept repeating last night at dinner, Vegeta? He kept saying, "Dad is sad", over and over again," Bulma's voice got caught in her throat and her eyes grew shiny with welling tears, "because he could see you on that damn couch!"

Mrs. Briefs returned with the cup of coffee for Vegeta and gave him a slow nod. In the hollow, numb spot where he stomach was supposed to be, Vegeta felt a strangely detached twinge of something vaguely resembling embarrassment.

"Are you done?" Vegeta took a sip of coffee and was suddenly conscious of his stomach, which hadn't vanished into nothingness after all, "I heard you. I'll take a shower and change and do something," he made air quotations with his fingers, "with my day. I mean, I will if you stop finally stop bitching at me."

Bulma threw her hands up and pushed her chair back quite quickly. "Okay, I'm done. Mom, I should be back five with Trunks. I'm going to take him to his swimming lesson. Vegeta," she glared at him, "do as I say. See you tonight."

Vegeta shrugged and focused on his coffee as Mrs. Briefs accompanied Bulma do the front door and saw her leave for the day. When she returned, Vegeta looked up at his mother-in-law and gave her a small smirk that did not reach his eyes.

"So I smell that bad, huh?"

Mrs. Briefs gave Vegeta a small nod and a strained smile. "I don't think you can go four days between showers," she spoke in her normal sweet tone, "most of us really can't..."

For the first time in a long while, Vegeta actually laughed; a single abrupt "hah" that actually broke the softness of the Saiyan's voice and pushed it back into a normal register. "Don't worry, I'll shower. And change."

"And if you're interested, I need to pick up groceries today. I'd love your company, Vegeta!"

"Does that really count as doing something?" Vegeta drained his cup of coffee. His stomach rumbled with hunger.

"Sure it does," Mrs. Briefs smiled at her son-in-law, "let's make a date of it! I'll even take you out for something to eat, how about that? Unless that wasn't your rumbling stomach I just heard..."

Vegeta responded by pushing his cup of coffee away and heading upstairs to take a shower. The climb up the stairs alone was exhausting, and after sitting on the edge of the bathtub for close to twenty minutes, Vegeta finally turned on the water.

It was coming up to eleven thirty when Vegeta waited for his mother-in-law to finish cutting fresh flowers from her extensive garden. He could see her out there through the large kitchen window, taking the time to inspect every flower until she found the best one and cut it at just the right spot.

He did feel much better after his shower; a bit more aware, somehow, although with this rediscovered awareness came the awful realization that he had barely moved from that black leather couch in the living room for five days. And how long had it been since he'd trained properly? When had he last had sex, or been remotely interested in it? It was late September, and his mental health had first started to seriously decline sometime in mid-July. Things were not good, and no longer being able to deny it made Vegeta terribly uncomfortable with himself. He was an embarrassment. No wonder his wife was so disappointed. Even his son, now almost four years old, was able to pick up on his father's depression and was literally announcing it at the dinner table.

"Oh, come on," he muttered, his hunger steadily increasing, "they're fucking flowers. Just pick some..."

His gaze turned to the stove. Maybe I'll make a cup of tea, he rose from his seat and turned on the front burner before going to fill the kettle with water. When he returned to the stove, he stared at the red-hot burner, set the kettle on an unlit burner, and without thinking he pressed the tips of his left index, middle, and ring fingers directly on the glowing centre of the burner.

Mrs. Briefs came inside just as Vegeta's face pulled into an agonized grimace and she gasped. He quickly pulled his hand away and his wide eyes met hers. "Oh, it's hot after all," he mumbled and pulled the kettle onto the lit burner with his uninjured hand.

"Come here," she turned the taps on and practically forced Vegeta to hold his hand underneath a stream of cool water, "keep your hand there for five minutes. Are you okay?"

"Mm," he smirked when she turned off the stove before fetching the First Aid kid, "I'm fine. My fingers are calloused, you know."

Four minutes passed with nothing said before Mrs. Briefs pulled his hand out from underneath the running water. She gently dried his hand with a towel, dabbed a numbing antibiotic cream on the blistering skin, and finally bandaged his fingertips. All the while, the tension in the air growing thicker with every passing minute, Mrs. Briefs resisted questioning why the Saiyan had deliberately hurt himself. She wanted to know why, but knew Vegeta was unlikely to tell her the truth. He probably didn't want to talk about it anyway.

"Are you still interested in going out for something to eat, sweetheart?"

"If it gets Bulma off my case..."

Mrs. Briefs smile was sympathetic. "Just let me arrange these flowers, and we'll go. I discovered this beautiful little cafe that you'd just love!"

Vegeta pushed the other half of his chicken salad sandwich over to Mrs. Briefs. His stomach was already uncomfortably full. "You take it. I'm not hungry."

"Why don't you have it packed up, sweetheart? You might enjoy it in an hour or two."

Vegeta shrugged. "Maybe. But maybe not."

Mrs. Briefs finished her sandwich and sighed contentedly. "I just love this cafe! Don't you, Vegeta?"

Vegeta had never been to The Beatnik Cafe before, but he knew it wasn't the sort of place he would actively seek out. The walls were painted black and then covered in dozens of abstract paintings, apparently all created by the same artist and most of them for sale. A tiny stage stood in the far corner of the cafe, where a long-haired young man strummed on an acoustic guitar and sang in an inoffensive soft voice. The seating was purposefully mismatched; a mix of restored wing-chairs and sturdy wooden seats painted in psychedelic colours. Several tall bookshelves were stuffed with an array of paperback pulp novels and hardcover tomes. Vegeta had heard the word "artsy" thrown around before but had never fully understood what it meant, but decided this cafe his mother-in-law had chosen could succinctly define the word.

Another shrug. Vegeta chastised himself as he started to lean back in his seat. "It's a cafe. I have no feelings about it."

He looked at his bandaged fingertips and grimaced. What a dumb thing I've done, he thought, the woman must think I've gone totally off the deep-end. Why did I do that?

"Well, please tell me you have some feelings about your new jacket, which looks so smart on you!"

The Saiyan felt his cheeks going a bit hot. The days were still warm, but the nights grew ever cooler as autumn approached, and Mrs. Briefs had been very insistent that he at least try on the cognac coloured leather jacket on display in the neighbouring boutique before they ate lunch. He was quite surprised with how well it fit him, and Mrs. Briefs was so complimentary when he inspected himself in the mirror.

"It will be good when it gets cold," he finally offered. Vegeta not only knew how to converse, but considered it to be an art form he was skilled in, and his failure to engage in conversation was embarrassing him. "It's, ah, a nice colour."

Mrs. Briefs gave Vegeta another smile. "I'm so happy you agreed to go out with me. I think this is just what we needed to do today. Besides, now you can show Bulma that you went out and did some shopping today!"

With quite a bit of effort, Vegeta managed to turn his smirk into an actual smile for a few seconds before he broke into another heavy sigh. They had yet to visit the grocery store, and Vegeta just wanted to go home and sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Anger Management

Chapter 2

* * *

Bulma's programmed alarm gently chirped away at 6:20 AM, rousing both occupants of the master bedroom at the same time. Bulma sat up, stretched and yawned, while Vegeta rolled over and swore under his breath.

"C'mon, Vegeta, you agreed to go for morning walks with me," Bulma pulled back the covers, "now let's get to it! Trunks gets up at seven, so we have a good half hour to ourselves. Up, now!"

The Saiyan snarled and sat up, rubbed his eyes and forehead, and went to pull on the clothing he'd laid out the night before. When he'd completed the task at ten thirty the night before, he'd felt a twinge of pride. Now, the sight of his jogging pants and sweatshirt just irritated him.

It was a clear, cold morning, the sky streaked with red and warm yellow as the two set out for a quick walk. Bulma suggested they walk to the nearby park, take one lap around the short walking trail, and return home right after. Vegeta didn't care where he walked, as long as he could be back home and return to bed within forty minutes.

"Hey, don't forget, Vegeta, tonight's the fall festival at Trunks' preschool, and I expect you to come."

Vegeta rolled his eyes and groaned. "That's tonight?"

"Yes, Vegeta! I told you two weeks ago, and I also reminded you yesterday! Don't even give me any excuses, Vegeta, because I know you don't have any! It's not like you even train these days..."

The Saiyan scoffed but offered no retort. Finally, he sneered, "maybe I'd rather watch the Monday Monster Movie Marathon on channel 367! Did you ever consider that?"

"Oh, sure, Vegeta. I totally buy that one. I'll get my Dad to record it for you, if It Came From Beneath The Sea 4 means that much to you. We're going to the school event together, got it! We're a married couple, and we need to show Trunks' teacher and the other parents that we're raising our child together."

"I can't believe I'm having this conversation," muttered Vegeta, "and I'm being forced to go because you care about what other people think..."

Bulma stuck her left hand in Vegeta's face and wiggled her fingers, making her diamond ring sparkle in the sunlight. "Does this mean nothing to you?"

"You bought it yourself, so not really. It's just a ring."

"You're impossible. Come on, we're at the park entrance," Bulma was craving a cigarette, "let's go home."

* * *

Arms folded tight across his chest, Vegeta sighed through his nose and looked over at Bulma. They had been sitting in a preschool's tiny gymnasium with the lights off for five minutes by that point. "How much longer is this going to last?"

"Shh," Bulma shot her husband a sharp look, "they've got one song left! Do you have any idea how hard it would be to get a group of three and four year olds into costumes in any reasonable length of time?"

Vegeta hummed. "Do I care?"

Finally, the children came back onto the small stage at the front of the room, dressed in an assortment of fall-themed costumes. Bulma laughed when she recognized Trunks, now dressed as a bright orange pumpkin, his chubby legs poking out the bottom, and turned on her camera to record the performance.

During the performance, Vegeta chewed the inside of his lower lip and shifted in his too-small chair. The event was apparently two hours long, and the opening ceremony had just begun.

At least there's food, thought Vegeta as he scanned the small crowd of children and parents, otherwise I might entirely lose my will to live. The Saiyan sipped on a tiny cup of sweet punch, wishing for something less cloying on his tongue. He was grateful the event had moved out of the small gymnasium and outside onto the fenced-in playground. He searched for a quiet corner and found nothing that wasn't entirely open. He was stuck until Bulma said they could leave, and Vegeta did not do well with boredom.

"Ugh, damn," it was Bulma's turn to mutter, "not her..."

"Who?"

"Julia Henry," Bulma's voice was acid as she recalled the woman's name, "the perkiest, most perfect mommy to ever give birth. She acts like she wrote the damn manual on motherhood! That one," Bulma tilted her head to the left, "the skinny brunette in the white jeans and pink top. If I have to listen to her sanctimonious crap tonight I swear I'm gon-"

"Oooh," Vegeta spotted the woman gave her a quick look up and down, "you've got something to pick with this woman," he looked back at Bulma and gave her a very familiar, sly smirk, "this night just got a lot more interesting..."

"Don't expect a showdown," Bulma returned the smirk, "if she comes over here, you'll be listening to her go on about her micromanaging lifestyle for at least twenty minutes."

"Then can we just leave? Why are we standing around out here?"

"Because you need to meet Trunks' teacher! She'll be over shortly. Here, go get yourself something to eat," Bulma reached into her pocket and passed him a ten zeni bill, "and get me something too!"

Reluctantly, Vegeta decided on some popcorn. He wasn't very hungry, so he could share it with Bulma. Trunks was running around with a group of children, and the teacher was nowhere to be seen.

"What does the teacher look like?" Vegeta returned with his snack, took a handful of popcorn and passed the bag to Bulma.

"Over there," Bulma motioned to the right, "the tall one, in the plaid dress. She takes about five minutes with every parent," Bulma paused to try some of the popcorn, "hey, this is pretty good."

"I know," Vegeta reached over and took another handful, "by the way, that woman you don't like is coming over."

Bulma groaned and turned to greet the woman. "Hi, Julia..." her voice and smile were both strained, "how are you?"

The tiny woman flashed her teeth in an equally strained smile. "Bulma Briefs! How nice to see you! I just sold that manor in The Heights. You know the one- where Brett Brock of KLTV used to live, before his divorce. So," she shifted the huge brown purse hanging off her thin right shoulder, "which one is yours?"

"Oh, the little guy in the black trousers and red button-up," Bulma pointed to Trunks, who had thrown a miniature basketball across the playground and raced to catch up with it, "I can't believe my little Trunks will be four soon! Where does the time go?"

"I know! My oldest is already in the fourth grade! Trunks is your first, right? Oh, and is this the father?"

"Hello," Vegeta glanced at her quickly before looking over at the teacher, who was still talking to the same set of parents. What was taking her so long?

"Oh, hello," Julia's practiced smile never wavered, "I'm Julia. You must be Trunks' father?"

Finally, Vegeta remembered to extend his hand and mumbled his name. "Your kid in a class with mine or something? Mm?"

Julia let out a breathy laugh. "Yes, mine's over there," she pointed to a little blonde boy with slicked back hair, "that's Percy. He's actually on a fast-track stream into an elite secondary school program. If all goes to plan, my little boy will be graduating and heading to university by the time he's sixteen! Do you two have any plans for Trunks yet? I mean, competition into the best schools is so tough these days... even for the son of an elite scientist!"

"Trunks is a very bright little boy," Bulma cut back in, "but we're just letting him be a kid for now. He loves reading with his grandmother, and so we tend to take trips to the library on Saturdays. He's got a whole lot of energy to work through these days as it is, I really can't imagine getting him to sit still for additional lessons. We might get him into some extra-curricular activities in another two or three years, once his energy's a bit more evened out."

"Well," Julia's tone of voice changed, "we've got little Perce in violin on Mondays and piano on Thursdays, baseball just wrapped up for the season, plus swimming and jui-jitsu, and we're starting horseback riding in the winter. We just purchased him a pony. Then there's tutoring on alternate weeknights and Saturday afternoons, and then my husband and I run math drills with him on Sunday nights. You just can't be too prepared these days, Bulma! Colleges really do want to see a well-rounded student!"

"Jesus, your kid's got a busier schedule than my wife," Vegeta spoke through another mouthful of popcorn, "what's a four year old getting out of all that?"

Julia openly scoffed. "And what exactly is it you do, ah, Vegeta?"

Bulma barely got the first syllable of Vegeta's name past her lips before the Saiyan turned to completely focus on the irritating woman. "I don't work. What does it matter?"

"Well, it's unfortunate you don't seem more interested in what your son is up to," Julia smirked, "I understand that with the Briefs income, you may not have to work, but it seems like you're just so bored being a house husband. Geez, how do you spend your days? You must be so depressed. I feel sorry for y-"

Vegeta's fist made contact with the side the woman's face, and he immediately realized he'd just made a horrible mistake. He'd thrown the punch without thinking; it was a completely automatic response to being insulted by a stranger, and he knew it was definitely not an acceptable response. Julia fell to the ground in a heap, her skinny legs collapsing underneath her, and she brought her hands up to her mouth as she let out a muffled wail. All eyes were directed at Vegeta and the woman on the ground, and it only took two seconds for people to start piecing together what had just happened.

Bulma screamed, half horrified and half enraged, and pushed Vegeta away from the now-crying woman. "I'm getting Trunks. Stand against the wall, Vegeta, unless you actively want me to divorce you."

The Saiyan barely heard woman and backed into a wall. His hands shook uncontrollably, and he could feel he heart pounding against his ribcage. A group of women were crouched beside Julia, trying to comfort her and determine what injuries she had, if any.

"Are you okay, honey?"

The woman gently shook her head and moaned at the pain caused by the motion.

"Honey, move your hands away so I can see what's go- oooohhh," a woman saw the blood pouring out of Julia's mouth and gasped, "somebody, call an ambulance!"

"I think he broke her jaw," another woman said, "that's a lot of blood..."

"He did it," a man pointed at Vegeta, who found his hands were still trembling, "I saw him. I've already called the police."

A group of several men were approaching Vegeta when the principal of the school finally came out the doors to see what the commotion was all about, and scowled when he saw the terrible scene. "Sir," he gestured at Vegeta, "I think you need to take a seat in the office. Everybody, please stay calm! We're going to get this resolved peacefully and quietly, alright?"

Bulma stood outside of the office with Trunks while Vegeta remained inside, quietly sitting at the principal's desk as a police officer questioned him. He admitted to hitting the woman and only nodded when he was told she would be pressing charges.

"Sir, you're under arrest for assault," the officer unlocked his handcuffs and motioned for Vegeta to put his hands behind his back, "I'm going to be taking you to jail for the night and you'll have a hearing before a judge in the morning. You have the right to remain silent, you have..."

Vegeta said nothing, but sighed when he felt the cuffs click shut. He couldn't even be bothered listening to the officer; he'd heard it all before and was sure that Earth wasn't going to be that much different. Bulma didn't know it, but it wasn't Vegeta's first time being arrested; he'd been detained on four separate occasions while working for Freiza, and knew it was in his best interest to just cooperate.

During the car ride over to the police station downtown, Vegeta said nothing and stared out the window. The officer watched the man through the protective barrier and couldn't help but notice the sadness in his eyes.

"You care for some conversation, man?" The officer spoke up, his voice a warm bass with a fine amount of grit to it, likely from years of long, stressful shifts.

"Knock yourself out," Vegeta glanced at the officer and caught his deep brown eyes in the rear-view mirror.

The officer nodded slightly and laughed. "Alright, then. Just hear me out for a minute. I don't wanna make any assumptions about you, so I hope you aren't offended, but I've got a sibling and you kinda remind me of them."

"Mh?" Vegeta looked up again. What was this officer on about, now?

"You ever break a bone, man?"

"Of course. Have you?"

"Yeah. Last year I broke my damn index finger," the officer shook his head as he recalled the memory, "closed a damn car door on my hand. Hurt like hell. Anyway, I went to the doctor for it. Got an x-ray, had the finger set, put in a splint, and four weeks later, I was a new man! You saw a doctor for that broken bone, right? What did you break, man?"

"I broke my arm about four years ago," Vegeta said, recalling it as one of the more painful injuries he's endured on account that it had been broken by Android 18.

"Uh-huh. That sounds bad. But a doctor took an x-ray, set your arm, put you in a cast, and after some time it healed, correct? Tell me this, have you ever had a bad flu?"

"Yes," Vegeta thought about the first time he ever experienced influenza, "almost wound up in hospital."

The officer gave another patient nod. "My kid wound up in hospital with the flu when she was just six. Gave me the scare of a lifetime. But still, I'm glad that seeing a doctor was an option."

"So what does this have to do with your sibling," Vegeta shifted in his seat. He hated handcuffs, and he really hated that he couldn't break them unless he wanted Bulma to get even angrier with him.

"My sibling struggles with their mental health," the officer watched Vegeta through the rear-view mirror for a reaction, "we've had some tough times... real tough times. It's been a challenge, you know? But things are getting better, slowly but surely. Anyway, I don't mean to ramble, but if you see a doctor for a broken arm or because of the flu, why wouldn't you see a doctor about your mental health? It doesn't matter how physically fit you are if your mental well-being isn't there, you know? It's nothing to be ashamed of. Mind, body, and spirit, they all work hand-in-hand, that's what I say!"

Vegeta nodded out of politeness. The police station was getting close.

"Well, we're here," the officer pulled up to the back door and waited for a guard to open it, "I'll help you through the booking and then you're going to have to wait in our holding cell until morning. The judge will hear your case at eight o'clock in the morning."


	3. Chapter 3

Anger Management 3

Chapter 3

* * *

When the oven timer buzzed in the kitchen, Vegeta looked up from the bundle of papers he'd been reading and rose from the front room sofa. He'd been home for roughly eight hours by that point, after Mrs. Briefs had posted her son-in-law's bail and was instructed to directly bring him home. It was coming up on half past six, and for most of the afternoon Vegeta had read and re-read all the information he'd been given upon leaving jail.

Spending a night in a holding cell had been bad enough, but having to do it while wearing an orange jumpsuit and white sandals had been especially humiliating for the Saiyan. He'd been photographed and fingerprinted before finally being left alone in a white-walled cell for the night. Furious as he was, Vegeta felt completely drained of the crackling energy he'd grown to associate with rage, and spent almost the entire night laying on his side. The jail provided him with a hideous-looking sandwich and a lukewarm container of milk at dinner, which he refused to eat, and for breakfast he'd been given a tray of rubbery eggs and orange juice, and that brought back memories of reconstituted foods aboard Frieza's ships.

He had a brief hearing with a judge early in the morning, responding to basic questions about his name, age, and occupation (or lack thereof) and the events of the day prior. His bail had been posted at two and a half million Zeni and his next court date scheduled three weeks later.

The bundle of papers outlined what Vegeta could and could not do in the time before his next court date. His official charge was listed as "Assault, Degree 1", which he learned meant that he'd deliberately planned to inflict harm on the woman he'd punched, although the charges could change as the case progressed. Vegeta was required to remain on the Capsule compound at all times, was banned from consuming alcohol or any substance that was not prescribed, and was forbidden to communicate with the victim or her family. He was also required to provide both urine and hair samples the next morning.

"You must be hungry," Mrs. Briefs set a large plate of baked fish and vegetables at Vegeta's place, "did you eat anything when you were, uhm, in jail?"

Vegeta shook his head and was quick to start eating. For the first time in weeks, he felt like he had a proper appetite. "I am hungry," he finally responded, "so make second portions if you haven't."

Mrs. Briefs gave Vegeta a very familiar, reassuring smile and took a seat beside him. "Ahead of you, Vegeta. Eat as much as you like, sweetheart."

Bulma finally came down with Trunks and glared at Vegeta as she took her place, looking away as he made eye contact with her. "We're meeting with a lawyer tonight," she focused on her plate, "to try and get this sorted out."

"Dad, are you gonna go to jail?" Trunks questioned through a mouthful of flaky fish.

"Maybe," Vegeta was pleased to see Swiss chard on his plate, "how are we gonna meet with a lawyer if I can't leave the property?"

Bulma lit a cigarette. She was not hungry at all. "He's coming here, you dolt!"

Vegeta shrugged and reached for the serving dish of vegetables. "What time?"

A long exhalation of smoke directed at his face. Vegeta hated it when Bulma did that. "Around nine o'clock. So Trunks will be in bed, and you and I can get some things settled between us. Vegeta, do you understand just how serious this is?"

The Saiyan shrugged in response. Trunks ate quietly for several more minutes before looking up at his father again. "Dad, if you go to jail, how long will you be there?"

"Daddy isn't going to jail," interrupted Bulma, "your daddy and a lady had a disagreement, so the police officer said that daddy can't talk to the lady any more because they can't get along. Both the lady and daddy have special people to help them get the problem solved."

"Well, that's sugarcoating it," Vegeta finished his fish and eyed the oven for another portion, "Trunks, your mother is hiring a lawyer. If we're lucky, the lawyer will help me stay out of jail. If not I'm not lucky, then I'm going to jail for a little while. Does that answer your question?"

"For how long?"

Vegeta unfolded his papers and converted the months into years as Bulma silently seethed with anger. He could feel her stare practically boring through his head. "Up to five years."

Trunks finished his latest mouthful of dinner and looked between his parents. Both of them were upset and seemed to hold the gaze of the other by force. "Oh. Can I go watch cartoons now?"

Lawyers don't have to be likeable, they just have to win, Vegeta reminded himself as he half-listened to Bulma and the lawyer plan a settlement with the woman Vegeta had assaulted. The lawyer Bulma hired was allegedly one of the best in the city; his last name was Kaur and Vegeta was immediately put off by his expensive dark suit and immaculate, fox-like appearance. The longer Vegeta sat there, the more embarrassed he felt by his dishevelled appearance. He hadn't combed his hair through since his shower the day prior, and hadn't bothered to change out of the rumpled t-shirt and black sweatpants he'd put on when he'd first come back home.

"So, Mrs. Henry is still hospitalized at the moment. The injuries were, ah, not pretty, and considering Mrs. Henry's appearance factors into her profession, we might have t-"

"How the hell does appearance factor into selling a house?" Vegeta snarled.

"Her face is on billboards, Vegeta! She is a very recognizable person, and you may have wrecked that for her!" Bulma was almost at her limit with Vegeta; he didn't seem in the least bit concerned with the case and gave the lawyer terse, disinterested answers.

"The good news, ah," the lawyer cleared his throat, "is that she already went for surgery on the broken jaw. It was a clean break and she had the best surgeon for her case. She'll have her jaw wired shut for three months..."

So something good will come out of all this, thought Bulma, as she heard Vegeta's ugly laugh (the one reserved for fights and taunting) drift through her head, I heard that, the disembodied voice said, you think it's funny!

"I do n- I mean," Bulma cleared her throat, "do you know anything else about her condition or treatment plan? Do you think she'd be open to a settlement?"

"Hard to say right now," the lawyer leaned back in his chair and pushed a thick palm across his silver hair, "a settlement could help us avoid a civil trial, but Vegeta, you are definitely going to criminal trial. We ought to plan a settlement right away and make our case to keep you out of jail," the lawyer stared right at Vegeta and a cold smile spread across his face, "your cooperation was noted by the arresting officer, which is a good thing."

"Alright," Vegeta shrugged, "I'm going to plead guilty."

"What?! Vegeta!" Bulma shrieked, "why aren't you fighting this?"

"Because I punched her in the face and everybody saw it, Bulma! Seriously?!"

"Hang on," the lawyer slowly raised a hand to bring the conversation to a pause, "we could use a guilty plea to help keep Vegeta out of jail. Vegeta, are you familiar with the case of the heiress, Violet Primez?"

"No," Vegeta took a sip of cola and glanced at the clock. It was coming on ten o'clock and Vegeta wanted to go to bed.

"You must not follow tabloid news. Although, when it happened, it was everywhere! Violet Primez is an heiress to a beer brand, and she's also famous for, well, existing. Anyway, this heiress lives your typical rich kid lifestyle, with plenty of nights out and the substance use associated with her preferred type of nightlife. Not exactly a scholar, and yet inexplicably popular with college-aged girls. One night, our heiress gets pulled over by the police for speeding, but instead of actually pulling over and coming to a complete stop, she instead pretends to pull over and then speeds off as the police approach the vehicle, leading them, along with around twenty other units, on a high speed chase down a busy stretch of coastal highway for a good thirty miles. Along the way she hits four other cars, injuring six people in total. Incredibly, nobody was critically injured or killed."

I'm impressed, thought Vegeta, she must be one hell of a good driver!

"And what happened to her?" He finally asked.

"She settled out of court with the people she injured, pled guilty to the criminal charges, and after her lawyer successfully argued that her quote-unquote abnormal behaviour stemmed from repressed trauma and drug abuse, she went to rehab for six months as a part of an overall sentence that included community service and a public speaking tour on college campuses. The woman landed three magazine covers in two months upon leaving rehab, for godssake!"

"Hey, that's right! I forgot all about her," Bulma perked up and started to see where the lawyer was going, "she did avoid jail, didn't she?"

"This woman's story is interesting, I guess," Vegeta lingered on the last word, "but I'm not a young dumbass kid with money and a drug addiction."

"No, but you are a member of the Briefs family," Bulma glanced at Vegeta watched his lips purse slightly, "so you do have at least one thing in common with little miss heiress."

Vegeta huffed and folded his arms over his chest. "I'm not going to a rehab facility."

"And if your drug screen tomorrow comes up clean, going to rehab won't be a potential end result of your case. Be patient, Vegeta! Give me two days to get things in motion, and we will meet again to discuss this case in greater detail."

Empty paper cup of coffee between his feet, Vegeta waited with growing impatience for the nurse to enter the room so he could give the urine sample. His bladder was full, and it was full at that very moment. He wasn't sure he could hold on much longer.

"Come on come on come on," he growled, "I have to pee."

Five more agonizing minutes passed before a tall nurse with a thick neck entered. "Mr. Vegeta Briefs? Ah yes, you're here for samples."

"Gotta piss, let's do this," Vegeta rose from his seat, legs squeezing together to alleviate the pressure in his bladder. He'd taken drinks of orange juice, water, and coffee all morning but he swore that it had all passed through his system at once.

"Hair samples first, then urine," the nurse coolly replied, "please have a seat and look down so I can see the back of your neck."

The nurse combed through Vegeta's hair, twice remarking on how thick it was, and plucked strands from near his temples, the crown of his head, and down the back of his neck. When the Saiyan was asked to provide samples of his pubic hair as well, he could feel his face going bright red as he pulled down his pants, and audibly winced when several hairs were plucked.

Finally, Vegeta was able to provide the urine samples, although he was quite unimpressed when the nurse stood beside him during collection.

"So what's the difference between the hair and urine samples, exactly?"

"Oh, the urine tells us if you've consumed drugs in the past few days, while the hair gives us a picture of what you've been up to over the last several months."

Mr. Kaur finished his cup of coffee before he fetched the growing file he had for Vegeta's case. "Well, we can take rehab off the table. Vegeta, all your samples came back negative for illicit drugs or alcohol."

"Well, obviously," Vegeta refilled his own cup and ignored Kaur's cup, "I'm the one who said rehab wasn't an option."

"Don't you see, Vegeta? Because of your cooperation, your guilty plea, and now with your clean drug screen, we can further refine our defence. What we're going to do is argue that you punching Mrs. Henry arose from a long-term struggle with depression and emotional regulation. You aren't a malicious criminal, Vegeta, what you are is a sick man who needs help, and this terrible incident is that opportunity to turn your life around... should the judge agree with our argument."

Vegeta eyed the lawyer with a deepening scowl. "You have to be kidding me, Kaur. That's the dumbest fucking thing I've heard in ages."

"It's the best thing I've heard in ages," Bulma stormed past the living room, "unless you can come up with something better!"

The front door opened and then slammed shut. Vegeta rubbed his temples and growled. "It's either that or jail, hmm?"

On the morning of Vegeta's trial, the Saiyan woke early, showered, and spent several minutes checking himself over in the mirror; plucking a stray eyebrow hair, filing down a jagged thumbnail and scraping underneath his nails, and adjusting his clothing until it felt right.

He couldn't recall the last time he'd worn such formal earthling clothing; a tailored black suit with a crisp white button up shirt, and an eggplant tie that Bulma had tied for him the night before. His formal black shoes, stiff from rarely being worn, gleamed in the light.

As he left the bedroom, he spotted the portrait he and Bulma had posed for on their wedding day. So that's the last time I wore a suit, he thought, how pathetic, I can't recall something that happened eighteen months ago.

"Good luck, sweetie," Mrs. Briefs set a light breakfast at Vegeta's place, "I know you're going to be just fine!"

"Hey Daddy," Trunks pushed himself up to his seat at the breakfast table, "you look funny in that suit."

Vegeta grunted and ate the corners of his toast before pushing his plate away.

The ride to the courthouse was tense and silent. Vegeta motioned to Bulma for a cigarette when she lit one for herself, which the Saiyan smoked in several long drags. The nicotine seemed to hit him all at once, and when they pulled into a spot in the parking garage, Vegeta pressed the back of his head against the top of the car seat and held his hands over his face.

"Okay," a minute passed before he spoke, "let's do this."

The gavel banged against the judge's desk and Vegeta had to grip the edge of the table as he remained standing. He felt like his stomach had dropped past his knees, while his larynx had come to a rest against his tonsils. His fate was now sealed, the judge's monotonous voice still ringing in his ears.

 _Seeing as this is your first offence, along with your continued cooperation and negative drug screen, Mr. Briefs, I am not determined to see you behind bars as part of your sentencing. I will, however, see to it that you seek long-term mental health care. Mr. Briefs, I hereby sentence you to weekly psychotherapy sessions for a period of no less than fifty two weeks, one year of probation, and five hundred hours of community service. You are to remain at home between the hours of midnight and six o'clock, barred from contacting the victim or her family, and you are to remain no less than five hundred feet from your son's place of education at all times. Should I see you back here again, Mr. Briefs, I will not be so lenient..._

Bulma rubbed Vegeta's back and heaved a sigh of relief. "See, Vegeta? No jail time!"

"Oh, my God," Vegeta slowly fell back into his seat, "what a nightmare."

"This is good, Vegeta," Kaur packed up his briefcase, "I'll be in touch soon regarding the settlement. Looks like the Henrys plan to accept."

"Good," Bulma shook the lawyer's hand, "looking forward to speaking with you soon. If you'll excuse us," Bulma motioned at her husband, who had started to slowly tug at his hair, "we ought to be heading home. Clearly, things are still sinking in."

Both Vegeta and Bulma had another cigarette on their way home from court. Vegeta pulled his tie loose and leaned back in his seat. He'd learned that the judge would direct his case to a psychotherapist, who he would meet the following week, and a probation officer would be stopping by that evening.

A short, very stocky man with dark tattoos covering both thick arms made his way into the main entrance of the Capsule Compound's main residence, awed by the sight of the impressive house. It was just after six in the evening, and his newest client, Vegeta Briefs, was the newest client of Salvatore Ramirez.

"Wow, this sure is a beautiful house. So, where's Vegeta?"

Vegeta overheard his name and came from the living room, where he had been occupying his usual spot on the couch since the early afternoon. "Hello."

"Hello," stocky man returned the cold greeting in a borderline mocking tone, "I'm Ramirez. The court has assigned me to conduct interviews with you on a weekly basis. Can we take a seat somewhere, Vegeta?"

"Mmh," Vegeta motioned to the living room, "in here, Mr. Ramirez."

"You can just call me Ramirez," the probation officer took a seat across from Vegeta, "no need to get super formal with me. Basically, I'm here tonight to get a bit of information on you and your home life..."

Reading over the business card Ramirez had left one final time, Vegeta thought about his first meeting with the probation officer and felt a smirk growing on his face. Ramirez was sharp and funny, and Vegeta had to respect a man who clearly was not intimidated by him.

Their next meeting would take place at Ramirez' office downtown; a part of the city Vegeta rarely ventured to and had little interest in visiting. When Vegeta did leave the compound, he usually stuck to the upscale neighbourhood north of the compound because it was the neighbourhood Mrs. Briefs frequented the most.

"So, one week down, fifty one to go, hm?" Bulma emerged from the steamy bathroom, hair wrapped in a towel piled atop her head, and sat down on the bed next to Vegeta.

Vegeta scoffed and dropped the card into his mostly-empty nightstand drawer. "How the hell do I even get downtown?"

"Please, my mom is already planning a little afternoon around the whole thing," Bulma laughed, "she's been lamenting how you never explore the city. You've lived in West City for almost half a decade and don't know about anything outside the compound walls, I swear."

"Bullshit," Vegeta sat up in bed and caught the smell of Bulma's lotion, "I do go out."

"Yeah, to the same two places! You go to that convenience store and to that little theatre whenever they have one of their science fiction movie marathon!"

"Broke my damn sandal with their sticky floor," Vegeta muttered, internally horrified that Bulma knew about his attending the science fiction marathons, "but that's not the point! I don't need a chaperone or somebody to play tourist guide. I'll damn well figure it out on my own!"

Bulma merely shrugged and began rubbing lotion into her right thigh. "Just a heads up, my mom wants to teach you how to winterize rose bushes tomorrow. She bought you new gardening gloves. They're blue, and she's so eager to see your reaction to them. Please, Vegeta, be gracious, even if you have to fake it."

Vegeta slid down onto his back again and groaned.


	4. Chapter 4

Anger Management

Chapter 4

Thanks for your lovely reviews!

* * *

"You need to eat, Vegeta."

The Saiyan poked a corner of toasted bread into runny egg yolk, sniffed it, and set it back down on his plate.

Bulma heaved a frustrated sigh and lit her second cigarette of the morning. Vegeta was being even more stubborn thanusual, but his refusal to eat was worrying. He had seemingly lost his appetite two days prior and was unwilling to speak.

Still, since his sentencing, Vegeta had not only regained his meticulous sense of hygiene, but he was sleeping somewhat normal hours in the bed he shared with Bulma. His first appointment with a Dr. G Kim was at ten thirty, and Bulma was coming to recognize that Vegeta was absolutely terrified of what was about to happen. He'd actually stopped talking roughly thirty six hours prior, refusing to respond with anything beyond a shrug or a grunt.

"Damn, I'm gonna be late," Bulma glanced at her watched and saw it was already ten minutes to nine, "Vegeta, good luck today. You're going to be fine."

Vegeta crinkled his brow at Bulma and looked away. Eating the silverware sounded preferable to sitting down for an hour with a stranger who would be probing his emotions. "Nngh."

The waiting room in the upscale clinic where Vegeta found himself biding his time was unexpectedly luxurious- the air carried a hint of some expensive, subtle fragrance, and the chair he'd chosen seemed to pull him into the cushions. Although he'd actually wanted to throw up in the car on the way over, he now felt quite calm about what was happening.

Maybe I'm just trying accept my fate, he thought, there's no use in fighting, is there?

"Mr. Briefs?" A very slender elderly woman with silver hair cropped close to her scalp approached Vegeta's seat and extended her tiny hand to shake his.

When Vegeta extended a hand, he watched as his own hand engulfed hers and didn't dare put any energy into his grip. All I need is to crush her bones into dust, he thought, that would be an even bigger mess.

"Come with me," she broke the handshake and motioned for him to follow her down a short hallway, "my office is the last door on the left."

Dr. Kim was barely five feet tall, with a tiny frame concealed by a thick green sweater, a white scarf draped over her neck and shoulders, and a flowing copper-brown skirt. She led Vegeta into her warm and very clean office, which contained a long desk, four oversize chairs similar to the one in the waiting room and additional blankets draped over the arms and cushions placed in chair corners. A large potted tree stood in the far corner of the room, and low pots filled with small cacti and succulents accented side tables.

"So, is it pronounced "Vah-gee-tah", or is it "Veg-eh-tah"?

"The first one," Vegeta struggled against the need to squirm in discomfort.

"Thank you," she opened up a pad of paper, "I will be taking notes during our sessions, okay, Vegeta?"

"I don't think I can really protest or say no, can I?"

Dr. Kim gave Vegeta a wry smile, which he returned. Just like Ramirez, Dr. Kim did not seem to be remotely intimidated by the Saiyan, which Vegeta found both frustrating and rather admirable.

"I understand our meetings are a part of your sentencing for assault, Vegeta. Is that correct?"

"Yes. I figured the court had already sent my information to you."

"Yes, but I wanted to confirm. Thank you, Vegeta. So..." she paused and took a moment to gather her thoughts, "I'd like to talk about your current day-to-day life at home. I understand that you are unemployed. Where do you spend the majority of your time?"

Vegeta folded his arms over his chest. He hated the term "unemployed"- he thought it made him sound lazy. "At the house I share with my wife and her family. And the kid."

"Yes, I know you have a young son as well. How old is he?"

"Trunks is going to be four in a couple of months. My wife's already planning this... event... for the occasion. Ridiculous if you ask me."

"I see," Dr. Kim jotted notes down on her pad of paper, "when was the last time you were working or enrolled in an educational program, Vegeta?"

"Quit my job when I was thirty. Couldn't take it any more," he said, comfortable with the fact that he was telling her the truth while still withholding the majority of the details surrounding his former employment, "so it's been about four years."

Dr. Kim nodded and kept writing. "What did you do at your last job?"

Vegeta felt his stomach roll. He had to come up with a lie, and fast, and stick to it. "Collections," he finally said, "I collected on delinquent accounts for a major corporation."

"That sounds like it could be a stressful job, Vegeta. How long have you and Bulma been married?"

"Eighteen months," the truth was easier to spit out, "but we started living together almost four years ago."

Dr. Kim gave him another nod and continued writing. What could she be writing, wondered Vegeta, she can't get that much out of what I'm telling her...

Finally, she spoke: "Have you ever been in therapy or sought mental health care before, Vegeta?"

The Saiyan's derisive laugh provided enough of an answer for Dr. Kim. "Well," she offered, "we all begin somewhere, Vegeta, and we will be meeting every week for at least a year, which you already know."

"I know," he grumbled, "and I wonder if you dread this more than I do."

"No," Dr. Kim was quick to reply, "and I can't really dread meeting somebody I've never met before."

"Fair enough."

"Can I ask why you'd think I might dread meeting you?"

Vegeta picked at his nails. "Call it past experiences, I guess. Let's just say people haven't always been happy to see me."

More scribbling down on the pad of paper. "Why are you dreading these meetings, Vegeta?"

"Never said I was," it was Vegeta's turn to be quick on the reply.

"But you did, Vegeta. You asked if "you dread this more than I do", after all."

Vegeta sucked on his teeth. "Shit, I did say that. Ugh," he pressed his fingertips against his eyes and squeezed them shut, "I don't know. Obviously I should be here, but I'd rather not talk about this shit, you know? I can say "shit", right?"

Dr. Kim nodded and and said nothing. This chair is incredibly comfortable, thought Vegeta, and with an increasing feeling of disbelief with himself, he finally spoke up: "my life's just been upended several times in the last few years. I went from being comfortable and yet miserable, and I mean fucking miserable, to getting my ass completely handed to me, to a f-" his voice caught in his throat, "fucking near-death... thing, to this period where I just wandered around kind of pointlessly, I think, to having this kid and getting married, and now I don't do anything. I don't work because, well, let's be honest, I married very rich, and I don't really have anything to reach for any longer. So now I'm here."

Dr. Kim didn't say anything for a while, not writing, but digesting her client's words. "I think you've not only gone through some very traumatic experiences, but following that up with what must feel like sudden stability must not help. I think your anxiety around talking about what has happened is natural- you don't want to live that pain again. And I don't blame you. Would you describe yourself as "bored", Vegeta?"

"Very."

Finally, Dr. Kim took more notes. "I know we just met, Vegeta, but you strike me as a go-getter. Ambitious, and maybe just a little ruthless, too."

Vegeta felt the corners of his mouth turn up a bit. "Very astute."

"I think we need to get that ambition heated up. You need to make goals for yourself, not only in your personal life, but in our sessions as well. Are there any goals you might wish to share?"

What kind of a question is that, he wondered, a goal in therapy? My goal is to not strangle you!

"Get back to peak physical condition," he said, "I'm out of shape."

Dr. Kim couldn't help but smile. "You enjoy physical activity? That's good, Vegeta. There are many emotional and cognitive benefits associated with regular physical exercise. What sort of exercise do you enjoy?"

"Martial arts. But you don't understand," he shifted in his chair, "I trained all day, every day, for years. And then I... stopped. There used to be a hot flame burning me from the inside-out and it was snuffed out. The other night I discovered I can actually pinch fat on my stomach, I'm that out of shape. I'm turning into all the other soft-fleshed, pasty-faced, miserable looking men I saw at Trunks' school. God help me."

"That's quite a description," Dr. Kim's eyebrows rose up, "you really feel that your fitness has declined that significantly? Because, if you don't mind me saying this, I don't see a "soft-fleshed" person sitting across from me. Maybe your, ahem, "training all day" isn't possible right now, but why not ease back into your routine by exercising for an hour? Even a half hour walk can be very beneficial."

"My wife makes me go on walks with her," he replied, "but I do need to do a lot more. A couple years ago, my mother-in-law started taking a lot of photographs of me. There's this one she took right around the time where I was at my peak. I saw it the other day and I've been disgusted with myself ever since."

Vegeta paced around the living room and flicked through the extensive digital photo album Mrs. Briefs constantly updated, searching for pictures of himself that had been taken around his thirty third birthday. It took almost ten minutes, but he found a large folder of photographs that weren't displayed but still stored on the hard drive.

The first ten photographs had actually been taken as a guideline for how the Saiyan preferred his armour to fit, and turned the Saiyan into a headless mannequin. A handwritten measurement chart photographed for quick reference showed he had a waist measuring twenty nine and a half inches, while his chest measured forty inches. He found the next set and recalled how angry he'd been when he'd discovered the woman photographing him as he trained, followed by the pride when he saw that many of her shots had captured him in motion, immortalizing his physical condition and the power behind it.

One shot captured the Saiyan performing a handstand, balancing his entire weight on his left palm while his right arm reached out to the side, his bare feet arched as his toes pointed skyward, strong thighs pressed together, his narrow waist taut, and his expression completely at ease. Another captured him mid-backflip, his arms just starting to sweep out to balance the landing, his eyes shut and mouth open as he'd exhaled through the motion.

The next shot showed Vegeta much more at ease, leaning back on a patio chair with a large glass of water clutched in his a gloved hand, apparently in mid-conversation with somebody. The next shot captured the growing Briefs family, along with Oolong and Krillin, everybody grinning for the camera save for Vegeta, who was captured staring off into the distance, his mouth slightly downturned.

Vegeta sat back on the couch, bag of potato chips between his crossed legs, and set the photo album aside.

"Hi, sweetheart," Mrs. Briefs took a set a large tray carrying two mugs of green tea and a plate of sliced fruit on the coffee table, "let's turn on the news, shall we?"

Vegeta grunted and passed her the remote.

Mrs. Briefs waited until a commercial break to try talking to her son-in-law. "Did you have a good day, Vegeta?"

Vegeta shrugged and shoved several potato chips into his mouth.

"You met with Dr. Kim, didn't you? I know you haven't been looking forward to it."

Vegeta found an perfect-looking chip, unbroken and perfectly seasoned. "I'm supposed to find five "goals" and write them down before I see her again."

"Ah," Mrs. Briefs nodded, "have you thought of any?"

Another mouthful of chips. Vegeta silently watched a commercial for a popular fast food restaurant. "Quit eating crap and see if I can't get the fat off my stomach."

When Mrs. Briefs reached over and took away the bag of potato chips, rolling the top shut and setting it aside on the other side of her lap, Vegeta stared at her with sheer amazement at her boldness before letting out a single, very dry: "ha".


	5. Chapter 5

Anger Management 5

* * *

"Happy Birthday, Vegeta," Bulma kissed the back of Vegeta's neck and shoulders as the two of them stirred awake, "I can't believe my handsome Saiyan is already thirty six!"

Vegeta rolled over and pushed the hair away from Bulma's eyes. "You forgot "prince", woman," he found himself smirking, "your handsome Saiyan prince is now thirty six years old."

Bulma giggled and kissed him again. "I want to show you something, your highness. Wait here," she got out of bed and went into the bathroom for several minutes.

She returned to the bedroom dressed in a very skimpy, powder blue teddy, its thin satin shoulder straps straining under the weight of her bust. "What do you think, prince? Is it to your liking?"

Well damn, he thought, this is a nice way to wake up...

"Mmhmm," Vegeta threw the covers back and leaned far over to bring Bulma back onto the bed, "I think you'll lose your whole outfit if you breathe a little too deep," he gently pulled her onto his lap and tugged at a strap, "let's see if I can't make that happen."

"Happy birthday, son!" Dr. Briefs clapped Vegeta on the back, making him choke on his coffee.

Vegeta stifled his coughing and nodded, resisting the urge to turn around and slap his father-in-law. Over the years, Vegeta had to frequently remind himself that the old man was eccentric, genuinely forgetful of the Saiyan's physical boundaries, and only one of two people who could (and would) maintain and upgrade his gravity chamber, not that he used it very much any longer.

"Vegeta! Happy birthday, sweetheart," Mrs. Briefs set a cup of coffee at Vegeta's place, "you certainly have a busy day, don't you?"

Trunks took his seat at the table and beamed at his father. "It's your birthday? Cool! How old are you, Dad?"

"You first," he pointed at Trunks, "I'm thirty six," he then looked over at Mrs. Briefs, "and yes, today is busy."

"I know! You have two appointments," Mrs. Briefs sounded delighted, "so I get to spend some time with you! I'm going to take you to lunch!"

"Lucky," Trunks said through a mouthful of scrambled eggs before pausing to swallow, "Grandma picks the best places to eat!"

I wanted to be alone, he thought, so much for that... it figures she'd try to turn this day into something.

"Oh," he sipped his coffee, "alright, then."

"Vegeta, you're going to love tonight," Bulma walked into the eating area as she put on her earrings, "you are in for a surprise!"

"Uh huh," his voice was wary, "you aren't leaving for work already, are you?"

"Ugh, Mooom," Trunks heaved a raspy sigh that was reminiscent of his father, "you never stay for breakfast!"

"Big meeting at eight thirty. I'm already running late! Sorry, Vegeta- I wish I could stay for breakfast, too! But tonight will make up for it, I promise! Trunks, be good for Grandma, and thirty minutes of reading before you can play video games, mister!"

"Okay, Mom," Trunks returned to his toast, "do good at work. I love you, bye!"

"Good-bye, Bulma."

Vegeta waited until Bulma had left before finally reaching for a piece of toast. "So is anybody going to let me know what that was all about?"

"Mom's taking you to a res-tau-rant," Trunks sang cheerfully, "Mom's taking you to a res-tau-rant! A really fancy res-tau-rant!"

Mrs. Briefs gasped in disbelief. "Trunks! Why did you spoil the surprise?"

"Aw, I didn't mean to!"

"I'm thrilled he did," Vegeta rose from the table and ruffled the boy's fine hair, "good boy, Trunks. I'm getting out of here."

If it hadn't been for Vegeta's ravenous appetite, the Saiyan would have taken off after his appointment with Ramirez in order to find his way to Dr. Kim's office on his own.

The Saiyan had settled on visiting the gym on his birthday, and had spent close to two hours lifting weights, practicing calisthenics, and running around the huge indoor track. He was tired after the long session, but he showered, finished an entire bottle of milk on his own (straight from the bottle) and still met his mother-in-law for their agreed time to head downtown.

"Oh sweetie, I'm so sorry you're upset," Mrs. Briefs knew that Vegeta was very pissed off, "we don't have to be here if you don't want to..."

"It's too late now," Vegeta drummed his fingers on the formica table, "we're here and we ordered and I'm hungry."

Mrs. Briefs stirred her soda and the cherry syrup at the bottom of the glass with her straw. "Well, that's good."

A server set a large chocolate milkshake at Vegeta's place and he immediately took a sip. He could feel the cold ice cream mixture settling in his empty stomach. "What do you mean?"

"I can't remember the last time you said "I'm hungry", so it's just nice to hear. You must have worked hard in the gym."

Vegeta smirked. He hated that she was right, and when the server returned with a very large cheeseburger and plate onion rings, his stomach audibly growled. He was quick to eat, ignoring the incredible heat of his food almost entirely, and didn't speak for a long time.

"This is good. But now," he put the remaining third of his hamburger down and pushed the plate aside, "this whole "restaurant" business tonight, with Bulma? No. Fuck no. I'm not doing it."

Mrs. Briefs decided to try her grilled chicken sandwich before answering him. "Well, honey, why don't you call Bulma's office and have her secretary cancel the reservation?"

"Didn't bring my phone," Vegeta leaned back in the booth's seat and folded his arms over his chest.

"Here," Mrs. Briefs retrieved her phone from her purse, scrolled through her contacts, selected "BULMA'S OFFICE" and passed the phone to Vegeta, "call her secretary. He'll cancel for you."

Vegeta pressed the CALL button and held the phone to his ear. The phone was answered on the second ring. "Bulma Briefs office," a young-sounding man with a bored, nasal voice answered.

"This is Vegeta. Bulma made reservations tonight. Cancel them."

There was an agonizing stretch of silence before the man's voice returned. "Vegeta- you're her husband, that's right. Sorry... uh," there was the sound of typing on a keyboard, "I'm sorry, she didn't tell me about it. I have nothing on the calendar... can I take a message?"

"Yes. Tell Bulma that she is to cancel whatever reservations she'd made tonight. I'd rather eat glass than go out."

Another stretch of awkward silence. "Um, I'll be sure to pass that along, Vegeta. Can I help you with anything else?"

Vegeta disconnected the call and passed the phone back to his mother in law. "Well, that was annoying."

Mrs. Briefs silently counted to three and put her phone away. Vegeta could be so nasty with people he didn't know- she could accept that he wasn't the most outgoing or gregarious soul, but she didn't like that he was often quick to insult or condescend to those outside his small circle.

"I know Bulma wanted to surprise you, but if you want to stay in on your birthday, you stay in!"

"Hmm," he picked up his burger again and decided he could finish it, "I wonder how she'll react when that secretary tells her that I called."

"Nice to see you, Vegeta. How are you today?" Dr. Kim was dressed in a black pantsuit this time, with a soft violet scarf loosely draped around her neck.

"It's my birthday," Vegeta responded, immediately feeling stupid for having said it. Why the hell did I say that, he internally chastised himself, you sound like your damn wife!

"Well, happy birthday! How old are you now?"

"Thirty six. But I feel way older."

"Thirty six is just the beginning of your prime, Vegeta. Last week, we discussed you creating a list of goals. How did it go?"

"I'm two for five," Vegeta shifted in the chair, "as in, I managed to come up with two goals. So I'm assuming that "not good" is how it went.

"What do you mean by "assuming" that your task didn't go well? Do you mean that I think you didn't do well enough?"

"Well, I had to make a list of five things, correct? I failed to complete my task."

"Not entirely, Vegeta," Dr. Kim's pen practically ran across the page as she wrote, "you took the initiative to make a list, and you still came up with two goals you wish to reach."

"Two out of five is forty percent. Is that not failure?"

"I'm not grading you, Vegeta, and I'm not telling anybody else about this. If you hadn't done anything at all, I might be concerned, but not disappointed. That's not how this works, Vegeta. Your wellbeing is long-term and can't always be tied into hard numbers or facts."

The Saiyan loudly exhaled through his nostrils. I am not convinced, his expression screamed, why should I listen to you?

"Besides," Dr. Kim continued, "forty percent is still better than zero percent. You can boost that average much more easily than if you had nothing to show."

"Hm!" Vegeta tilted his chin up and smirked, "that's good."

"If you're comfortable sharing, what were your two goals?"

"Start eating better and get back into shape. I saw a measurement chart from a few years ago and that was enough to convince me."

"Are you celebrating your birthday tonight? Or do you prefer to celebrate on the weekend?"

"Thisfuckinday," he muttered, "I don't really care. I don't want to do anything. My mother in law took me out for lunch and that was... well, more than I wanted to do, but to be honest, I was hungry and the food was actually delicious. My wife apparently made reservations for some fancy restaurant, I don't even know where- I called her secretary and had her cancel. She wanted to "surprise" me."

"How did you find out if it was supposed to be a surprise?"

"My kid gave it away. Well, sang it away..." he almost laughed at the memory of Trunks' raspy little singing voice.

"Good for you, Vegeta. I'm glad you took that initiative. If you want to go home and do your own thing, that's your decision to make. You know, some people just aren't into big birthday celebrations."

"Oh, I've celebrated my birthday," the Saiyan almost chuckled, "but this year I don't care."

"Would you mind sharing a memorable birthday, Vegeta? Maybe this birthday is one for self-reflection."

The Saiyan sat quietly for a moment. He wasn't so sure about sharing his past- especially the stuff involving his personal life. Finally, after quietly laughing at the memory, he decided to talk first about his nineteenth birthday.

"My nineteenth birthday was memorable because of how much fun I had, and because of how stupid I was back then. At the time, I lived with two other guys who were just complete fucking animals. The living arrangement was hell, of course, because I was far younger and was more concerned with my fitness and work, while they regularly threw the most insane parties I've ever witnessed.

Anyway, after a great deal of peer pressure and goading and generally pissing me off, I agreed to go out and celebrate my birthday with these two idiots. They took me to this night club, one of them tricked me into taking drugs, and I wound up having a great time most of the night. The music was amazing and I straight-up enjoyed myself for what felt like the first time in my life. Things kind of derailed when I tried to keep up with their drinking- I wound up running out the fire exit and hurling in a dumpster, and then found myself locked out of the club. I don't really remember how I got home, but that's where I woke up, and my roommates didn't realize I'd gone missing until the morning after."

Dr. Kim took notes the entire time. "Would you want to repeat that experience?"

Vegeta scowled at the woman. "Give me a break."

"Any more recent memorable birthdays? As you said, you were nineteen in that memory."

"Thirty one. I remember that one very well."

"Much more recent," Dr. Kim kept writing, "will you tell me about it?"

"Eh, I can't remember what I did that day. I probably just trained," Vegeta shut his eyes and found himself standing on the roof of the Capsule compound, "I was living with Bulma and her family by that point. We weren't really getting along well back then, but we did have a lot of fun. I'm pretty sure we were arguing about something that day, too. Anyway, Bulma told me to meet her on the roof at night, so I went up there and we just talked for hours. She realized it was my birthday and acknowledged it and that was it."

"If you had to relieve one of those birthdays, which would it be, and why?"

Vegeta kept his eyes shut. "Thirty one," he immediately replied, "it was good. Comfortable."

"The day, or being with Bulma?"

"Her."

Dr. Kim nodded and kept writing on her notepad. "She makes you feel at ease."

That's not what I said, Vegeta thought, before realizing the old woman was right.

"Yes."

When Bulma climbed up to the roof just past ten thirty, she found Vegeta sitting on a blanket with a small cooler pushed up against the short barrier. She had sent him a text message just after four, apologizing and saying she wouldn't be home until late. A few hours later (when Vegeta had found his phone stuffed inside a housecoat pocket) Vegeta replied with instructions to meet on the roof after ten o'clock.

"What a day," Bulma sat down beside Vegeta, "I didn't expect to be working past nine at night- yeesh! Sorry our plans fell through- my secretary told me you called, I think, but I was so preoccupied that I just had him call the restaurant... oh... I was planning to take you out for an incredible dinner, Vegeta... I feel kind of bad for basically yelling at her to change my plans before he could even get a word out. I wonder what he wanted to tell me? Hm," Bulma shifted her weight slightly, "I wonder if I even told him about our plans before today?"

"Either your secretary succeeded, or we stood up the restaurant. Nothing we can do now," Vegeta shrugged, reached into the cooler, and passed Bulma a can of beer.

"So, how was your day, Vegeta?"

"Mine? Well," Vegeta pulled the tab off a can, "it was a unique way to spend a birthday."

"Which appointment is worse, Vegeta? Seeing your probation officer, or your therapist?"

"Both are a pain in the ass, in their own unique way. Turns out Ramirez used to be a boxer- so I guess we have a little common ground."

"That's good," Bulma leaned against Vegeta and smiled at him, "I'm glad you're doing this. Even if you didn't really wanna do it."

Vegeta draped an arm around Bulma's shoulders. "This is better than a restaurant. It's comfortable here."

The woman reached for Vegeta's hand, squeezed it and kissed his knuckles. "I'm glad you like it, but it's getting too chilly for me to hang out up here! When you're ready, come down to the bedroom. I've got another outfit to show you."


	6. Chapter 6

Anger Management 6

* * *

Mrs. Briefs always prepared delicious, satisfying meals, but the baked spaghetti and green salad she had made that particular night was very good, and Vegeta actually went back for a third helping.

"Dad, won't your tummy pop if you keep eating?" Trunks finished his plate and wondered if he too could eat more.

"No," Vegeta scooped more hot pasta onto his plate, "our kind don't worry about that."

Trunks crinkled his brow and stared at his father, confused by what he meant, but soon turned around to see if his mother was reacting. When she seemed indifferent, Trunks returned to his dinner.

He missed the moment Bulma gave her husband a very sharp look of disapproval.

He has to know sometime, thought Vegeta. He scooped up several noodles at once and found his mouth almost too full.

Not like this, he heard Bulma's voice reverberating in his head, we need to talk about it with him together when he starts asking questions.

Vegeta gave a small nod of confirmation to the disembodied voice in his head and motioned for somebody to pass him the cheese, his mouth still too full to talk.

That night, Vegeta asked Bulma to brush through his hair with the finest comb that could manage to move through his thick mane, and with his head between his knees he felt Bulma's fingers parting his hair into small sections at the nape of his neck.

"So, about dinner..." Bulma slowly worked the comb through Vegeta's hair and pulled up with as little force as she could manage, "what was that about?"

"Come on, woman, ow!" Vegeta winced when Bulma pulled too hard on the next section of hair, "be gentle! You know the kid's going to have questions sooner or later. He's at that age."

"Sorry..." Bulma divided a section of the Saiyan's hair into two smaller parts, "I know he is... but... well, doesn't it make you nervous to talk to him about the fact that his father is an alien, which by extension makes him an alien? I just want my little boy to be carefree a bit longer, that's all... once he knows he's different from the other kids..."

Vegeta scoffed. "He's socialized as an Earthling- he'll be fine. He is a half-human, half-Saiyan Earthling who still has yet to demonstrate any of his Saiyan tendencies, aside from his appetite."

"Mm, about that," Bulma paused when she felt something in Vegeta's hair, "Trunks' teacher told me today that our son has become very interested in throwing different balls as far as he can. Today he threw a baseball clear across the playground and right into the backyard of a house. If that isn't a Saiyan tendency, I don't know what... what the hell, Vegeta? Is this a st- Vegeta, when did you get a twig in your hair?"

"Your mother asked me to help her find a tool she dropped into a bush. Guess that's what I felt pulling when I crawled underneath it. But that's interesting, about the kid. I guess that it's time to start training him."

Bulma ran through another section of hair. The back of his head always took a long time. "Training?! You don't mean in the gravity chamber, do you?"

"Jesus, woman! Do you think I'm an idiot? Of course not! Since he doesn't have a tail," he tone grew edgy, recalling his own sorely-missed tail, "I'll have to refine his balance first. Kid's fucking clumsy."

"He's not even four, Vegeta. Of course he toddles around- that's what toddlers do!"

Vegeta heaved a sigh. "I'm never going to get used to this planet."

* * *

After going to bed early, Vegeta slept fitfully before awaking shortly before six- a full hour before he typically got up those days. He tossed in bed and tugged at his blankets, eliciting a grunt of protest from Bulma.

"Mm, 'Geta... don..."

The Saiyan sat up, swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, and rubbed his eyes. Guess I'm up now, he thought, and I'm hungry...

A memory of breakfast samosas he'd eaten months prior passed through his mind, and Vegeta's stomach rumbled.

"I'm going for a walk. Do you need anything?"

"Cart'n... cigarettes..." Bulma rolled over and pulled the covers over her head.

Vegeta dressed, found his wallet and stuffed it into his coat pocket, and headed out. It was a few minutes after six, which meant the Saiyan could go out and about as he pleased.

He headed north to a small 24 hour convenience store, enjoying the crisp, cold air on his face. His hair still felt fluffy from the previous night's thorough combing-through, and when he saw his reflection in a darkened store window, he cringed at how out of control it looked.

The store doorbell chirped a happy little tune as Vegeta entered, and he nodded to the clerk behind the counter when he recognized him. "Hey, Samir," he gave the clerk a lazy wave, "do you have samosas today?"

"I am sorry, but it will be a seven minute wait, Mr. Briefs," the clerk gave his customer a friendly and apologetic smile.

"Vegeta. And that's nothing. I'll take a dozen. Also, I need a carton of cigarettes."

Samir looked through his extensive tobacco display, "you prefer Premiere brand, right?"

"Uh-huh," Vegeta took a wrapped stick of pepperoni from the jar on the counter and peeled it open, "it's for my wife."

Samir gave Vegeta the carton of cigarettes, washed his hands in the sink behind the counter, and went about putting a dozen fresh samosas in the huge oven at the end of the counter. While Vegeta watched this, another customer dressed in dark jeans and a torn leather jacket entered the store and looked through the beverage display case before approaching the counter, brandishing a handgun.

"Give me the money!" The would-be robber screamed at Samir while Vegeta watched on, half-eaten stick of pepperoni in hand.

"Not today, asshole," Vegeta set down his snack, snatched the assailant's gun and slammed it on the counter with such speed that he didn't have time to react before the Saiyan grabbed his wrist, pulling the robber's arm back as he practically swung himself around, snatching the other arm back and squeezing his wrists together while forcing him stomach-down onto the ground with the weight of one well-placed knee, "well, Samir? Are you going to call the cops, or just stare at me?"

The robber wailed in pain, his shoulders screaming at the awful position the arms had been forced to hold, and Vegeta simply laughed and leaned in deeper on his knee.

Samir tried to speak, but no sound came through. Finally, he stammered: "th-th-the silent alarm, I triggered it already!"

"Oh, good. I'm getting hungry," Vegeta leaned all of his weight into the knee he had pressed directly into the softest spot of the robber's lower back and grinned when the screams reached a new pitch, "I don't want to have to eat while holding this asshole down. Well? Was this a good fucking idea?"

"Nooo," the robber gurgled, "get off me, please..."

"Fuck you," Vegeta grabbed him by the hair, pulled hard and then pushed his face into the ground, "you inconvenienced me."

Vegeta held the robber down on the floor until the four police cars arrived, sirens screaming as they screeched into the parking lot and approached the store with their weapons drawn. When an officer spotted Vegeta holding the assailant down on the floor, he signalled for the officers to lower their weapons.

"That was an incredibly brave, but dangerous thing you did, Mr. Briefs," one of the officers sized up the petite man who had taken down the would-be robber in disbelief, "you were lucky that gun didn't go off."

"Guess it was reflex," Vegeta shrugged, more interested in the very hot, slightly burnt samosas he'd received for free (and "forever more" as Samir put it), "I just saw the gun and thought... not doing this today, you know? Fucking inconvenience."

Since nobody had placed Vegeta under arrest and Samir was quick to praise Vegeta to the officers, pointing at him and stuttering that his life had just been spared, Vegeta started to assume he wasn't in trouble.

The officer raised a brow. "You intervened because you were being inconvenienced?"

"Uh, yes," Vegeta took a bite of samosa, "I just wanted breakfast and my wife's fucking cigarettes, and that asshole got in my way."

"Wow..." the officer was stunned. Was the man before him a nonchalant hero or a psychopath?

"Well, well, nice seeing you again, Mr. Briefs," another officer approached, and Vegeta felt his blood run cold when he registered the voice as a familiar one.

It was the same officer who had arrested Vegeta several weeks prior, looking rather amused by the scene. The Saiyan's eyes grew wide in a mixture of surprise and horror, and he closed the box holding his breakfast.

"This can't be good..."

* * *

Mrs. Briefs set a steak so large it filled the entire plate before Vegeta, who was delighted at the sight of blood leaking from it.

"Our hero," Mrs. Briefs squeezed Vegeta's shoulder, "you are so brave!"

Vegeta rolled his eyes but wasted no time cutting into his steak. It was seared on the outside and totally red on the inside, just the way he liked it, and there was plenty of bread to mop up the blood after he'd finished his meat.

"Call for you, Vegeta," Bulma came into the dining room with the phone and passed it to Vegeta, "sounds like it's important..."

Vegeta brought the receiver to his ear. "Hello?"

A long stretch of silence followed, everybody at the table practically holding the breath (save for Trunks, who was very happy and quite occupied with the yummy cubes of steak Grandma had prepared) while Vegeta listened to whomever was on the other line, nodding and giving the occasional "uh-huh" or "yes, understood".

Finally, Vegeta disconnected the call and set the phone down. "Ugh."

"What's going on, Vegeta?"

The Saiyan rolled his eyes. "Tomorrow I get to see Ramirez to talk about this morning. Apparently some people are impressed that I intervened in a robbery, so I'll be teaching self-defence classes for my community service."

"You're not in trouble, are you?" Bulma seemed worried.

"Incredibly, no," Vegeta took another bite of steak, "he seemed kind of... I don't know, amused? But things aren't going wrong."

Trunks set his fork down. "Is Dad a superhero?"

Mrs. Briefs giggled and Dr. Briefs patted his grandson on top of the head while Vegeta and Bulma exchanged mutual looks of worry and grudging acceptance that they needed to talk with Trunks, and soon.

* * *

Ramirez stared at Vegeta with a large, mysterious smirk for several minutes when he entered the room. The Saiyan fought against the urge to squirm in his chair. Why was this human looking at him like that? It reminded him of when Raditz got drunk and started telling funny, filthy stories.

"Uh..." Vegeta finally broke the silence.

"That was pretty badass, what you did, Vegeta. I saw the security tape. Why didn't you tell me you were a martial artist?"

The Saiyan shrugged. "That part of my life is over. I quit fighting."

Ramirez let out a dry laugh. "Yeah, sure, Vegeta. Not with a form like that. You're a fighter."

"Still out of shape," Vegeta muttered, "I don't fight now."

"And maybe that's why you punched an innocent woman," Ramirez suggested, "but maybe that's also why you intervened in an armed robbery, as potentially dangerous as it may have been. I have never seen anybody take down with such speed and, well, grace. You're brutal, Vegeta, but you're also graceful. And, because you're on the smaller side, you're pe-"

"Smaller side? Thanks." Vegeta folded his arms over his chest, deeply unimpressed.

The probation officer smirked at his client. From his perspective, Vegeta was a scant five foot, four inches of compact fast-twitch muscle covering a bundle of tightly wound nerves. Ramirez didn't doubt for a second that the man could absolutely beat the hell out of him, yet at the same time his small stature took away any feelings of intimidation he may have experienced with a larger, equally skilled fighter.

"You'd be perfect for the self-defence class at the community health plaza, especially the senior women's class," Ramirez smiled, "I think some of the folks who come for the classes would appreciate an instructor who doesn't look like they ate a container of protein powder for breakfast. Although, you know, first time I met you, I kind of wrote you off as a gym rat."

Vegeta burst out laughing in spite of his irritation with Ramirez. "Are you serious? Who would I be teaching?"

"Little old ladies," Ramirez smiled, "and there will be a court-appointed monitor to assure your professionalism, Vegeta."

"And I have to complete five hundred hours of this?"

"Yes, Vegeta. You'll have one full year from your start date to fulfill your community service obligations as part of your sentence."

"How long is one class?"

"Ninety minutes."

Vegeta considered a few possible ways to approach his task: he could teach four days daily, six days per week, and be finished in under six months, or he could teach five hours, three times per week, and be finished in just over eight months.

The Saiyan clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Only seniors, huh?"

"Well, no," Ramirez reassured him, "there's different groups. You'll rotate through them each week. Seniors is just one class; there are also classes for teenagers, college-aged women, a general adult class, a women's only class..."

"And... I'll be teaching all of them..." Vegeta felt dread creeping up out of the deepest part of his guts.

"You'll be teaching different classes, yes. This will occupy about twenty hours of your time each week, which means you'll finish in about six months."

Vegeta shrugged. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

Ramirez laughed. "It's either this, or you power wash graffiti off walls, Vegeta. Take your pick."


	7. Chapter 7

Anger Management 7

* * *

When the alarm went off at eight o'clock, Vegeta awoke feeling rather good about himself. Three days prior, he'd intervened in an armed robbery and held the criminal down until police arrived. It had been a thoughtless reflex; he saw the weapon drawn and just did what came naturally. It had earned him praise, and also resulted in his being assigned to teach self-defence classes to fulfill his community service hours.

Teaching humans how to fight left him with mixed feelings. On one hand, he was disturbed by the realization he might actually teach an Earthling his techniques, refined through years of diligent training and realtime fighting experience, but on the other hand, no Earthling would ever pose a threat to him.

Still, it was better than cleaning graffiti off walls or picking trash off the road.

He went down for breakfast, quite pleased when he picked up the smell of sizzling sausages and baked bread, and Mrs. Briefs beamed at him as he entered the kitchen.

"My hero," Mrs. Briefs gave Vegeta a mug of coffee and kissed his forehead, "Mr. Ramirez called, he says you don't have to go to the community centre tonight. Your orientation meeting has been moved to next week."

"Oh," Vegeta, still red-faced from being kissed by his mother-in-law, shrugged and sipped his coffee, "that's good, I suppose."

Internally, Vegeta cheered for joy. Why did anybody think it was a good idea for him to show others how to throw a punch?

"However, they are sending over your training manual today, and you are expected to read it, sweetie. Remember, you can't use your Saiyan fighting skills with these folks!"

Vegeta groaned, partially in irritation at the mandatory reading, but overwhelmingly because of his mother-in-law's unnecessary and frankly awkward reminder.

"Do you remember your appointment for later today, Vegeta?"

"Yes," Vegeta took another sip, "Dr. Kim at two o'clock. I know."

"Would you like a ride, sweetheart? I'm heading out to do some more holiday shopping this afternoon!"

"No, I will walk," Vegeta's brows rose as Mrs. Briefs set a full plate before him. There was a lot of food for him- he was finally eating full meals on a daily basis and actually cleaning his plate, but he still wasn't consuming the massive amounts of food he once had consistently.

"It's a beautiful day, but it's very chilly. Make sure you wear gloves, hm?"

"Where's Bulma? Did she leave already?"

Nodding, Mrs. Briefs sat down with her own plate (much less crowded than Vegeta's) and spread a thick layer of marmalade on a piece of toast. "You still haven't told me what you'd like for Christmas, Vegeta! Any ideas yet, honey?"

"Ugh," Vegeta grunted through a mouthful of toast and scrambled egg, "no. Please, don-"

Mrs. Briefs sighed, imitating her son-in-law's tone with frightening accuracy. Vegeta didn't know if he should laugh or slap table in annoyance. "We go through this every year, Vegeta," she took a bite of toast, "and whether you like it or not, you're getting a present! Now, either tell me what you want, or I'll have to surprise you again!"

"All I want for your holiday is to enjoy some fucking peace and quiet for a change," Vegeta's appetite all but vanished and he pushed his plate away, "good breakfast. See you around."

* * *

"Good to see you, Vegeta," Dr. Kim smiled at her patient as he took his seat and jammed his reddened hands into his sweatshirt pocket.

"Mm, hello, Dr. Kim." Vegeta nodded, "here we are again."

Today, Dr. Kim was wearing a pair of black stovepipe trousers, black mock-turtleneck sweater, and wore a red tartan shawl over her shoulders. Vegeta wondered if she had a different scarf for every day.

"Did you walk here, Vegeta? It's getting cold out, isn't it?"

Vegeta pulled his hands from his sweatshirt pocket, inspected his chapped hands and nodded. "Suppose I should have worn gloves after all. Maybe I should ask my mother-in-law for gloves this Christmas, if it will get her off my back."

Dr. Kim started writing. "Ah, yes, the holidays are coming up. How do you feel about celebrating Christmas with your family?"

The Saiyan shrugged, "I really don't care. It's an excuse for me to eat. I don't want presents, and honestly, the rest of it is just completely ridiculous."

"What in particular do you dislike about celebrating holidays, Vegeta?" Dr. Kim continued writing.

Slouching back in his chair, Vegeta looked up at the ceiling and hummed as he thought about her question. Finally, he found the best explanation: "for starters, I really hate the constant stream of people in the house. My wife especially has a lot of people who come to see her- old acquaintances from fifteen years ago and whatnot- and last year she actually made me meet all these people... she forced me to do it because nobody knew we were married at the time, but I don't know who the hell they are, nor do I care! Plus, she has this fucking New Year's Eve party that goes on until I don't know what time..."

The Saiyan stopped to sigh and run his hands through his hair.

"So, your wife has quite an extroverted personality, while you seem to be more introverted. Would you agree with that, Vegeta?"

Vegeta nodded emphatically. Even thinking about the last New Year's Eve party made him upset and sick to his stomach.

"Did you attend the previous New Year's Eve party?"

Vegeta nodded again. "I've had more than my share of drunken morons as it is, and Bulma invited a... really unsettling number of people. The place where I can usually be left alone- the gym, which as it turned out, was used to store coats and purses, and then some fucking gem of a human hurled all over my equipment."

Dr. Kim winced in sympathy. "I'm sorry you had to make such an awful discovery! What time were you able to leave the party?"

"I finally bailed out at eleven. We started the new year off with an argument because I didn't kiss my wife at midnight."

Dr. Kim continued writing, "how frequently do you have arguments with your wife?"

"Define "argument"."

The pen was practically flying across the paper now. "Hmm, let's say, "major disagreement", something where you and your wife can't come to an agreement and can't seem to hold a civil conversation for an extended period of time."

That narrows it down a bit, I guess, thought Vegeta, and he rubbed his hands. His skin was getting uncomfortably dry, but he kept forgetting to put on lotion after a shower. "If it's something where we wind up not on speaking terms... we haven't had one of those in a while. We do argue a lot, but even when I'm pissed off with her, I'm still going to be with her."

"What do you mean by "with her", Vegeta?"

Now the Saiyan was a bit offended. "She's my wife, isn't she? Even if I'm angry, I'll still help her."

Dr. Kim simply smiled and flipped her page over to begin a fresh sheet.

"God, you write a lot about me," Vegeta shifted in his chair and began to pick his nails.

"Some days I do, yes," she finally set the notepad on her lap, "so, what else is going on with you, Vegeta?"

Vegeta's nail-picking switched over feeling the fine hair at the edge of his right temple. "I'm going to be teaching self-defence classes to fulfill my community service. Is that an example of irony? I punched a woman, and now I'm being made to teach others how to hit people as part of my punishment."

Dr. Kim almost laughed and started writing again. "To tell you the truth, Vegeta, I saw the footage of you intervening in that robbery. You certainly are a remarkable athlete."

The Saiyan heaved a sigh. "Out of shape."

"Oh ho, if that's what you consider "out of shape", I can only imagine what you can do "in shape", Vegeta. Why did you intervene, Vegeta? Many people would either freeze in place, or try to hide."

"I just wanted my breakfast," he shrugged, "so I guess that I responded because I was being inconvenienced."

Dr. Kim nodded, "so, you intervened because the robber was personally making your life difficult?"

"That is what I said," Vegeta resumed picking at his nails.

More note-taking. "What about the clerk, Vegeta? Did his safety and well- being factor into your actions?"

The Saiyan shrugged, disinterested in the topic of conversation.

"Tell me about your childhood, Vegeta."

Vegeta squirmed in his chair and gave Dr. Kim a very strained, clearly irritated smirk. "Not much to tell. Wasn't much of a childhood."

"Hm. Tell me about your parental situation as a child. Did you grow up with both parents?"

"No. My mother died when I was too little to remember, in an what was apparently some sort of vehicle accident, then my father died when I was about seven."

"I'm sorry. Who raised you after the death of your father?"

Things were getting uncomfortable. Vegeta didn't want to talk about this, but what choice did he really have? If he avoided it today, it would eventually come up in another session.

Finally, he spoke: "a friend of my father's raised me and another kid. Kind of a foster situation, I guess."

"Are you at all biologically related to the other child you grew up with?"

"No, thank god."

"How would you describe the relationship you had with the other child?"

Vegeta scowled. "It was not a sibling-type relationship. He was several years older and we usually led different lives, and he's dead now. That's all I want to say about that."

Dr. Kim nodded. "We don't have to continue talking about that. How did your father pass away?"

"Murdered," Vegeta watched Dr. Kim's face for her reaction, "I actually didn't know the circumstances surrounding his death for another two years."

"Oh, Vegeta. I'm sorry. That must have been devastating. Did you have any sort of support system at the time?"

The Saiyan resumed picking his nails, lost in his hazy childhood and suddenly nine years old again. His eyes shut, and he could once again smell the artificially cooled and sanitized air of a spaceship and feel the warm fabric of his cape draped over his shoulders. He'd been told the truth by Raditz in a dark, silent room during one of their assigned sleep periods, and the young Saiyan suddenly put all the pieces together after two terrible years of confusion and exclusion.

He'd wailed and sobbed, devastated and horrified by the realization that Lord Frieza, who he strove to always please, had planned this all along, and there was nowhere Vegeta could escape to or anybody he could confide in.

"Once I learned the truth..." Vegeta kept his eyes shut and his hands fell onto his lap, "I just didn't care for anybody but myself. Nobody mattered. That's when I knew for certain that violence is the way to get what you need, and feelings were not to be factored in."

* * *

After an afternoon in the gym, Vegeta showered, pulled on his most comfortable sweatpants and a white tank top, slid on his favoured rubber sandals, and settled in the living room to snack on the still-sealed bag of frozen sliced mango he'd discovered a few hours prior and read through his training packet. Since his session, he'd cycled through rage, an awful fifteen minute stretch of tears, and finally a sense of calm.

Maybe getting a bit of stuff off my chest is actually helping, he pondered, stomach beginning to hint that it was time to eat something far more substantial than frozen mango.

Trunks came bounding into the living room, dressed in grey tweed overalls with a matching cap, huge grin on his chubby face and running in place before his father. "Daddy! Daddy! Guess where I'm going!"

Vegeta looked up from his papers and sighed in irritation. "Mars."

The little boy giggled and shook his head. "Silly Dad! Gramma's taking me to Toodly Doodly! Toodly Doodly!"

Vegeta looked up at his mother-in-law as she came into the room, several large bills clutched in her hand. "Vegeta, you'll have to order in tonight."

"Huh?" He accepted the cash and looked her up and down. She was dressed nicely as well, in a grey skirt, white blouse, and thick black belt. Obviously they were headed somewhere, but for the life of him Vegeta did not know what a "Toodly Dooly" was supposed to be.

"I forgot to tell you that I'm taking Trunks to see The Toodle-Oo's, but we-"

Vegeta's brow crinkled in confusion. "What the hell is a Toodle-Oo?"

Trunks' excitement was practically oozing out of his pores as his bouncing grew ever faster. "Daddy, they sing and dance!"

"Oh, a children's entertainment act. Fine. I can order food."

"There are plenty of menus in the kitchen drawer on the far left. Sorry about this, Vegeta, but I heard the traffic around the venue gets terribly congested..."

"Then go," he motioned toward the garage door with the sweep of a hand.

"Bye, Daddy!" Trunks continued toward the garage door down the hall, hopping all the way.

Mrs. Briefs wasted no time, refusing to let the little boy get a head start on her. "See you in a few hours, Vegeta. Enjoy your dinner!"

An hour later, Bulma returned home, one long exhausted sigh escaping her as she set her briefcase down and stepped out of her four inch heels. "Hello? Anybody home? Vegeta?"

"In here," the Saiyan called from the living room, a spread of takeout menus across the coffee table before him.

"Oh, hey! What's with the menus, Vegeta?" Bulma sat down beside Vegeta and wiggled her aching toes.

Vegeta slowly pulled up Bulma's right leg, rested her foot in his lap, and started to press his thumbs into the arch. "I cannot understand why you wear those ridiculous shoes. Your mother ran off with the kid to see some idiotic children's act and left me with money. I don't want to wait around for delivery, nor do I want to have to open packages and serve myself on plates."

"That feels so good, Vegeta... mm... well, what do you want to do? You seem like you're pretty comfortable right now. Did you train today?"

Vegeta nodded. "I was thinking we could go out. Greek restaurant ten blocks away."

Bulma stretched her arms above her head and smiled. "Sounds good. But do this for a while first, then we'll go out, and tonight I'll wear that little black nightie you like."

Vegeta felt an old, familiar, and unconsciously missed laugh rise from his throat and he nodded in agreement. "I wasn't even going to stop, but now you're filling my head with ideas..."


	8. Chapter 8

Anger Management

Chapter 8

* * *

Three days remained until Christmas, and Vegeta was feeling incredibly stressed by the steadily rising number of visitors to the Capsule Compound's residence and the overall sense of chaos. A sharp pang of hunger had stirred him out of sleep at three thirty in the morning, and Vegeta stumbled down the stairs in search of food, bleary-eyed and only half-awake, stepping on Trunks' toy keyboard at the base of the stairs. Suddenly very much alert and quite pissed off, the Saiyan smashed the toy in a burst of rage before awkwardly stomping into the kitchen, hissing every time he put too much weight on his right foot.

When he returned to bed an hour later, stomach full and wakefulness fading, Bulma muttered at him to purchase another keyboard in the morning before rolling over and falling back asleep.

* * *

Wallet full of money (and Mrs. Briefs' credit card at her repeated insistence) Vegeta went to the shopping centre downtown, now very familiar with the area after his weekly visits with Ramirez.

After finally locating the children's toy department and reluctantly accepting assistance from a saleswoman, Vegeta purchased a small keyboard with an array of buttons that produced different sound effects. On his way out of the department store, he spotted a dark blue zip-up sweater on a mannequin, asked for his size, and was so impressed with how it looked on him that he purchased one in blue and another in dark red.

It was pushing one o'clock, and Vegeta had to make his appointment with Dr. Kim at one thirty. If he walked, it would probably take around half an hour, but if he flew, he could make the trip in minutes.

I haven't flown in so long, he thought, ducking into an alleyway and hiding behind a line of trash bins, better that I don't lose that skill...

He felt energy surge down his calves and through the soles of his feet, swiftly pushing him off the ground and high into the air, far above the crowds. Once he'd passed the very tops of the tallest buildings, Vegeta concentrated the energy to pushing himself forward, a little dismayed that he had to actually think through the process. Flight had always been so simple for him, and now he had to be conscious of his movements.

Still, the chilly air whipping through his hair was exhilarating, and he took twenty five minutes to fly over to Dr. Kim's office, seeing how high he could stand to go before it got too cold, letting himself drop before coming to a gradual halt, and taking the time to take a good look at the city from above, his cheeks quite flushed when he landed at the entrance.

* * *

"Oh my, is it windy outside, Vegeta?"

"Not really," Vegeta's hands tried to push his hair back, fingers getting caught in tangles and snares, "uh, maybe..."

Slightly bemused, Dr. Kim nodded and started writing. "How are you doing this week? Looks like you've been out shopping."

Vegeta looked at his packages and pushed them underneath his seat with his heel. "Keyboard for the kid."

"Oh, that would make a lovely Christmas present, Vegeta. That's very thoughtful of you," Dr. Kim smiled with approval at her client's choice, embarrassed as he seemed by the gesture.

"It's not a Christmas gift. I broke the keyboard he already has early this morning after stepping on it and then smashing the hell out of it and only purchased a new one because my wife insisted on it."

Dr. Kim's brows rose and she continued writing. "Why did you smash the keyboard, Vegeta?"

"Because my bare foot plus gravity plus hard plastic equals a lot of pain and therefore anger."

"I see," Dr. Kim found the choice of words quite revealing, "when we're on the subject of the connection between anger and pain... do you feel that your anger stems from pain?"

Vegeta started to pick at his nails. "Excuse me?"

"Your anger, Vegeta. You just said that anger comes from pain. I'm curious to learn about where you feel it comes from. Anger doesn't come out of nowhere; we need to isolate the source, or sources, of this anger you live with."

More eye rolling from Vegeta. He did not want to get into this with her today. "Well, aren't you making assumptions!"

Dr. Kim simply smiled. "Am I making assumptions, Vegeta? You can't tell me you're content, can you?"

"Have I ever said anything to suggest otherwise?"

When Dr. Kim simply set her notepad down and folded her arms across her chest, Vegeta sighed and conceded. "Fine."

"Vegeta, one of the most challenging things you're going to have to do here is take a good hard look at parts of yourself that you don't like. It's not easy, but what you've been doing obviously hasn't been working, right?"

"Mm," the Saiyan made a non-committal noise, as close to confirmation as he was willing to get.

"Then why not change it? It won't be something that happens in a week, nor do I expect or want you to put everything out at once. But at some point you need to take off the armour and let a bit more of the inside come out. The vagueness and your refusal to look deeper at events you've recalled isn't helping you. You'll start talking about an issue, and then once we start to examine it, you pull away and refuse to look at it further."

It stung him to hear that, and Vegeta went from picking his nails to absentmindedly reading the titles on one the bookshelves. "Of course this anger comes from hurt," he swallowed the lump in his throat, "why wouldn't it?"

Dr. Kim nodded. "Your anger is to be expected, nor are you in the wrong for being angry. Vegeta, we've only started our sessions together, but I think you've had to work through a lot of difficult situations from a very young age. You've endured years of abuse and bullying. In recent years, you met somebody and started a family, but that doesn't invalidate your past or mean those issues are over. Your anger is valid, Vegeta, but hanging on to it the way you currently are and have been for some time isn't helping you."

Vegeta had never described any abuses he'd endured in detail to her, but the old woman saw right through him. He absolutely hated it, but the relief he felt was welcome. He felt his breath catch in his throat, and an early memory came rushing in to his thoughts.

"I remember being a little kid. Maybe six. Sitting in this bus or something, waiting to depart. The kid I grew up with refused to sit with me because he was seven years older and wanted to hang out with other kids his age. I remember being really tired. There was this older kid behind me, ugly little shit, who kept pulling out hairs around the back of my head and poking me. I'd been raised to stay calm and not interact with trash, but that day I snapped. Gouged the fucker's right eye out with my thumbs, and after that day, his shitty little friends treated me with respect. That's when I knew that rage was a useful tool."

Horrified and worried her expression gave her away, Dr. Kim only wrote down "gouged out peer's eye aged six" on her pad of paper and flipped over to a fresh sheet.

"Thank you, Vegeta. Shall we discuss some ways to manage stress during the holiday season?"

"Sure," Vegeta seemed to switch topics like it was all small-talk, "I was planning to just keep to myself over the holiday."

"Any plans otherwise, Vegeta?"

"Mm," he nodded, "my mother-in-law makes a very good and wonderfully ostentatious meal for Christmas. There's always so much that I can practically graze on what remains for a few days afterward."

Dr. Kim nodded. "I always enjoy the leftovers from holiday meals too. Leftover roast turkey makes the best sandwiches after."

Vegeta's stomach rumbled at the thought. He was getting hungry and knew he'd be searching for food once he got home.

"The food is good. The people I can do without," Vegeta clicked his tongue, "I really just want to be left alone."

"I see," Dr. Kim continued writing, "how do you try to achieve that during such a busy time?"

"The gym. I mean, when they aren't stupid enough to use it as a storage room for people's belonging's during that huge New Year's party they throw!"

"I can see how that would be frustrating. I wouldn't appreciate that either."

Vegeta huffed and started jiggling his right leg. "I may just go into hiding."

"It's all about the balance, Vegeta. Your wife may insist you be with her at one of her parties, so this is an opportunity for you to assert yourself and establish that you want to go to bed at a certain point. I think if you "hide", you'll find that Bulma isn't happy, but you definitely don't want to be stuck socializing the entire holiday. Some people like socializing through the holidays, and you don't, and there's nothing wrong with that."

"And I don't want my fucking gym used as storage for coats! Every time I get some space to myself, it's not too long before somebody's nosing around in it!" Vegeta's voice started to rise. Even thinking about the discovery of coats (and vomit) in the gym the year prior made his blood pressure climb and heart beat a little faster.

"Remember that assertiveness is most effective when you take the time to explain your position."

The Saiyan's lips pressed together in annoyance. "I know a thing or two about being tactful, thanks. I want to be left the fuck alone!"

"I'm sorry," Dr. Kim replied, "I didn't mean to sound condescending." She knew that Vegeta's nerves, which could be touched so easily, were already close to raw. His right leg kept bouncing and he drummed his fingers against the inside of his thigh. He avoided her eyes, fixing his gaze on something far beyond the confines of the room, perhaps sitting in a room from his past. His eyes shone and he blinked every few seconds, his emotions peering far over a steep drop and about to slip down.

"Why don't we end a little early today, Vegeta. You took a brave step today. I hope you have a happy and relaxing holiday. The office re-opens the second week of January, so please go to the front desk to confirm your next appointment in the new year."

It took him a few seconds to process it, but Vegeta nodded. "Yeah. Goodbye, Dr. Kim," he pushed himself out of the chair, reached down to get his items, and headed for the door.

"Oh," he finally made eye contact with her, "have a good holiday, whatever it is you celebrate."

* * *

Unable to keep himself from watching the steady spin of the minute hand in the classroom clock, the Saiyan held back a sigh of relief when it was officially eight o'clock and he could finish the self-defence class.

All in all, it had been a remarkably successful hour, and the court-appointed monitor who sat silently in the corner nodded with approval.

"That's all for tonight. This group will meet again on December twenty-ninth, at seven o'clock."

Vegeta was in a state of disbelief; he'd just spent an hour teaching ten elderly men and women about the most tender and vulnerable spots on the human body that didn't include the groin, and then he'd told them about how to use their elbows, the heels of their hands, and even their canes to seriously injure another person. Much to his surprise, they had all been enthusiastic and eager to learn, and several of them had actually responded with laughter when he described, in detail, how the heel of a hand pressed very fast and hard in the bottom of the nose in an upward motion could cause catastrophic damage. Aware of the monitor in the room, he made sure to repeatedly say that these techniques were only to be used in a life-or-death situation.

All he wanted to do was pack his things and go home. His day couldn't get any more strange.

"Well, that was a lot of fun, young man!"

The Saiyan snapped back to reality and found himself face to face with the tiniest woman he'd taught that evening. She wore a long blue woollen skirt, white blouse, and flat black boots. Cane in her right hand, she beamed at him with twinkling eyes.

"Oh, good."

"I was worried you were going to make me try to flip somebody over," she laughed, "I'm too old to try that!"

Vegeta felt a smile growing on his face. He loved talking about fighting, and this little old woman obviously had some fight in her. "Those are just for show. You aren't going to remember how to flip somebody over in real life unless you spend a lot of time practicing it."

The old woman nodded. "Oh honey, I don't think I could flip somebody over once at this age! I'm going to be ninety eight in January, you know!"

"Hm! What motivated you to learn self-defence at this age?"

"My great-grandson suggested I go," the woman reached into her purse and pulled out a bulging notebook and showed Vegeta the laminated cover, "that's him."

Vegeta was presented with the image of an awkward-looking young teenager with choppy brown hair, braces, and the sort of acne that took the Saiyan back to his own reviled adolescence. Yeah, this kid would need self-defence classes, he thought bitterly, I can't imagine kids not making fun of that that facial situation.

"Oh," Vegeta passed the notebook back, "well, it's good you enjoyed the class. Have a nice holid-"

"Your eyes just light up when you're teaching, young man! And you're so patient! It was just such fun to learn from you- it's obvious you're passionate about this. Well, have a wonderful holiday! See you next time!"

Before Vegeta could think of a response, the woman started a conversation with another woman and walked away. Packing his bag as fast as he could, Vegeta was more than ready to leave when he looked up again and found there were four more people waiting to speak to him.

Vegeta kept the tip of his tongue between his teeth while listening to each and every one of them, constantly aware that not only was he being watched, but that his real punishment was being forced to interact with strange people in public.

Finally, after an additional twenty minutes of speaking to the remaining students, Vegeta was able to leave the classroom. He'd managed to get his bearings of the community centre and knew how to get out quickly, and the Saiyan was a mere five metres from the front door when he heard a familiar voice call out:

"Vegeta! Hey! Never thought I'd see you down here!"

Oh, fuck me sideways, thought Vegeta, turning around to come face to face with a beaming Krillin, dressed in grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt. Vegeta was taken aback when the previously-bald monk now sported a healthy head of shiny black hair. If he hadn't recognized the voice, he may not have known who it was at all.

"So, I guess "Baldie" is a little outdated, hm?"

Krillin laughed and set down his gym bag. "A little bit! So, what are you doing down here, Vegeta? Don't tell me your gravity machine's on the fritz and so you came here to work out!"

"I'm teaching self-defence classes," Vegeta's teeth remained almost clenched when he spoke, "part of my sentence."

"No way," Krillin's voice dropped to a hush, "I heard you got into some legal trouble..."

I wonder who blabbed about that, Vegeta felt his anger spiking. "Oh, did you? Hm. So why are you here?"

"I teach Tai Chi and Qi Gong classes here. Um, as a job, of course. It's great! You should come, Vegeta," Krillin opened his bag and found two brochures for Vegeta, "I think you'd really find it helpful for your training."

"Mm," Vegeta glanced at the brochures, folded them, and shoved them in a pocket, "I'm sure about that."

"So..." Krillin trailed off, feeling the old awkwardness he'd always experienced about Vegeta returning, "did Bulma tell you I'm coming over with Eighteen for the New Year's party?"

Exhaling through his nostrils, Vegeta nodded. "Yeah," his voice dropped into a growl, "she told me. I suppose I'll see you then, uh, Krillin. Enjoy your holiday."

"Thanks, Vegeta. We ought to get together sometime. I haven't seen a lot of the gang... and I really miss Goku, you know?"

"Uh huh, yeah," Vegeta avoided Krillin's eyes and looked back at the front doors, "I need to go. Goodbye."

Hands shoved in the pockets of his light jacket, Vegeta headed out the doors, turned the corner and took off into the night air once he was away from the bright lights and traffic. The mention of Kakarot scratched at a deep wound he desperately wished to become calloused and impermeable to emotion, but he found it was as raw and painful as ever.

* * *

Just after midnight, Vegeta settled on the couch with a steaming mug of peppermint tea and switched on the television. It was finally quiet in the house, and Vegeta had finally emerged from the gym after running ten kilometres on the elliptical and soon after falling asleep in the expensive massage chair Dr. Briefs had gifted him a few years earlier.

Trunks had been overjoyed by the new keyboard (Bulma told him that the other one had "fallen down the stairs, so Santa brought an early Christmas gift") and had immediately taken to making as much noise as possible, which drove Vegeta first into his bedroom and then into the gym when the toddler had one of his after surely painful after-dinner hunger attacks. The little boy certainly had his father's appetite, and he too hated waiting a long time for a meal. He could hear Trunks' shrill crying before somebody offered him a bowl of cereal (to start with) in an attempt to quiet the boy, and it made him turn the gym's television's volume even louder than usual.

He watched an old black and white film about a hardened detective tracking down a murderer for a few minutes before switching to the twenty-four hour news channel, figuring it at least made decent background noise.

It had been an exhausting day, at least mentally; first his breakfast had been interrupted by two of Mrs. Briefs' friends, then Trunks had thrown a temper tantrum when he was told he couldn't wear two coats at the same time. After that, he'd actually gone into a store, he flew for the first time in what had surely had to be months, had a very uncomfortable session with Dr. Kim, taught a self-defence class to a group of elderly humans (who definitely didn't know he was an alien) and, to top it all off, he'd run into Krillin, who just had to bring up the subject of Kakarot.

He couldn't sleep, and he knew the chaos would only increase over the next few days.

Sipping his tea, he let the sound of the weather report wash over him and searched for his safe zone of detachment.

"Vegeta?" A high and soft voice startled the Saiyan back into awareness. He jumped and spilled a bit of the tea onto his sweatpants.

"Whoa- what? What is it, woman?" Vegeta recognized Mrs. Briefs and heaved a sigh. Try as he may, he really couldn't get angry with his mother-in-law. She was just so pleasantly harmless and well-intentioned that any negative emotion directed toward her felt like a waste of energy.

"Mind if I sit down, sweetheart?"

"Mm," Vegeta motioned at the couch, "if you want."

Mrs. Briefs took a seat and her smile never broke. "I know how you feel about people making a big show of you during the holidays, so I wanted to give you this," she passed a plain envelope to him, "I thought, since it was quiet..."

"Mm," Vegeta opened the envelope and pulled out five gift certificates, "uh, what is this?"

"Well, I overheard you saying to Bulma you wanted to work on your flexibility, and then I remembered when Bulma took you to the ballet and-"

"Made me go to the ballet with her..."

"Oh, Vegeta, you were upset until you were so impressed by their balance and control!" Mrs. Briefs halted Vegeta's resistance with a smile.

"Uh huh. So this is..."

"Each of those is good for two hours of private instruction with members of the West City Dance Company, Vegeta. It's meant for people who are very fit but want to keep challenging themselves. You contact them, schedule your session, and go in with one of the gift certificates to pay for it."

"Huh..." he looked through them again and didn't recognize the address printed on the bottom, "well, this might just be enlightening. Um, thank you."

"Enjoy your program, Vegeta. I'm going to bed. Good night, sweetheart!" Mrs. Briefs knew it wasn't a good time to put an arm around him and went to bed right away. She decided it might be a good idea to take Bulma aside and suggest that Vegeta may want to be left alone during the holidays.


	9. Chapter 9

Anger Management

Chapter 9

* * *

It was ten thirty on New Year's Eve and Bulma's traditional New Year's party was in full swing, the entire ground floor (aside from Vegeta's gym, which had been locked up that afternoon after he'd taken an after-training bath) was filled with people.

In the kitchen, Vegeta watched his mother-in-law transferring an assortment of delicious little snacks onto large plates, wishing he had something a bit stronger than beer. There were already so many people in the house that he felt a bit trapped by it all, and he knew the size of crowd was likely to grow over the next forty five minutes.

At first, perhaps when the party started just after eight o'clock, Vegeta had found the event tolerable. There had only been a few people, and while they were unfamiliar, he had the time to feel their energy and get a general impression before they invaded his space. He detected no malicious energies, but plenty of annoying ones.

By nine thirty, there were far too many humans around for the Saiyan's liking, and he retreated to the kitchen. Once away from the crowd, Vegeta was quite pleased to discover three large coolers, each revealing an icy sea studded with bottles and cans of beer, and he smirked when he found two shelves of the refrigerator were now seemingly devoted to hard liquor and mixers.

Finally, Vegeta uttered a phrase he hadn't since his mid-twenties a decade earlier: "I'm going to get drunk tonight."

Aside from Krillin, Eighteen, and Yamcha, the likelihood of Vegeta actually knowing any of the guests (and of the three he already knew, there was only one he really tolerated) was slim. Bulma had invited a huge number of friends and acquaintances, employees, colleagues, and contractors, but Vegeta had only ever interacted with perhaps a dozen or so and only ever in passing. The house was full of strange people with strange energies and strange smells and strange sounds, and his wife was insistent he be in attendance.

To top it all off, all of the coats that didn't fit in the front hall closets had been brought upstairs into their bedroom. Vegeta hated absolutely everything about that night, and yet he did want to try and see it through for Bulma's sake. Think of it as a mission, he told himself, a really annoying diplomatic event with some delicious free food.

He finished his beer, the sixth of that night, and immediately went to the cooler for another one. Mrs. Briefs cleared her throat loudly and approached Vegeta with a platter of tiny sausage rolls. "Maybe you'd like to have a bite to eat, sweetie?"

"Mm," Vegeta took a hint and motioned her to put the platter down while he got a paper plate, "Nobody seems to comes in here," he sniffed at a roll, "and that's alright with me. Why are you in here?"

"Eat," Mrs. Briefs slid six of the little savoury morsels onto the plate, "and there's more where that came from."

"Mm'kay," Vegeta replied, his mouth full of food.

Good god, this mission sucks, thought Vegeta, I can't even show my face out there...

When Mrs. Briefs returned twenty minutes later, Vegeta was on his eighth beer. The Saiyan was realizing that the alcohol was beginning to kick in- fast- and the introduction of little bits of food had only intensified the effects of alcohol as his metabolism roared to life. He decided it was time to go out and socialize the way Bulma had first insisted, and then almost-begged him to do.

It's just drunk diplomacy, you've done this plenty of times... it's your early twenties all over again...

Upon entering the main space where the party was held, Vegeta found himself being pulled into a two-handed handshake by a towering, ruddy-faced and very blonde giant of a man dressed in an expensive-looking dark blue suit. "You must be Bulma's husband! It's high time we met! I'm Don- I work in R&D at Capsule Corporation. I- I have to speak with you!"

Wiggling his wrist and hand out of the huge man's grip and looked him up and down. "Don't do that."

The man's red face seemed to go two shades deeper and he gave an awkward sort of apologetic laugh. "I've been developing prototypes for our expanded lines of both activewear and protective gear. I hate to talk shop with you at a party, but at some point, I'd really appreciate your input."

The now-drunk Vegeta scanned the crowded room in search of his wife. "Where's Bulma?"

"I haven't seen her in a bit. Can I give you my card, Mr. Briefs?"

Vegeta peered over Don's shoulder and spotted blue hair. "No," he craned his neck and tried to pinpoint her, "don't b- oh, there," he spotted Bulma and wandered away, pushing the big man aside without giving him a second glance.

As he made his way to Bulma, Vegeta picked up a glass of champagne from the tray held by a passing server and took one long sip.

"Hello," Vegeta sided up to Bulma and smirked, "I made it."

"How much have you had to drink," Bulma subtly asked Vegeta as he stood at her side and she immediately smelled alcohol, "and did you insult one of my employees just now?"

"Some big guy named Ron, or Don, or something..." Vegeta finished his champagne and got another when another server passed by, "R&D or something and protective gear. I don't know- you know I can't keep up with your engineering people."

"Ohmygod, Vegeta!" Bulma almost raised her voice and ended up producing a sort of squawk, "c'mon, we're going to get you two properly introduced. Don is developing new armour for you and it's going to be amazing. You have to be nice to him."

"That argument is flimsier than the shitty plastic cup I'm holding," he threw back half the champagne, "but whatever you want."

"Don!" Bulma spotted the big man (he wasn't hard to miss) and approached him with Vegeta at her side. "This is my husband, Vegeta. You'll have to excuse him, he's not very familiar with a lot of the Capsule employees. So, have you been enjoying the holidays?"

"Bulma! Yes, we've had just a lovely time. Marsha and the kids are with her parents right now, so it's just me tonight. I was hoping your husband would be interested in testing out some new gear for me, but he doesn't seem to interested."

"Of course Vegeta would be interested!" Bulma ignored Vegeta's soft groan of irritation, "I'll get a meeting scheduled in January."

"I'd really like that," Don was enthusiastic, "but enough about work- how was your holiday?"

"It's been great! Busy, but a nice time overall. Although I am looking forward to getting back to the office!" Bulma laughed when she realized she'd started talking about work right away.

Vegeta resumed scanning the room, effectively tuning out his wife and the awkward man, and felt himself sigh in relief when he spotted an apparently unaccompanied Krillin standing by the fireplace.

"Oh, thank god," Vegeta muttered as he left the two to speak about protective gear and made a bee-line for Krillin.

"Ish your wife here?" Vegeta finished the glass of champagne and set the cup on mantle as he approached Krillin from behind. He realized he'd actually started slurring his words and internally declared himself "quite drunk".

"Ah!" Startled, Krillin whipped around and felt his mouth drop open when he came face to face with the Saiyan, who was visibly drunk and apparently not in a very good mood. "Hey, Vegeta! Happy New Year, buddy! No, Eighteen's at home tonight. Wanted to put her feet up."

"Mmhm," Vegeta leaned against the mantle, "so, do you know anybody here?"

"Kinda, not to mention I saw Yamcha around here earlier. He's got a girlfriend..."

"Mm," Vegeta's stomach rumbled and he wondered where the little morsels of food had been placed, "have you had anything to eat?"

Krillin gave a small nod, suspicious as to why the Saiyan was asking him if he'd eaten. Surely it was not a question that stemmed from concern. "A little. Why, Vegeta?"

Vegeta had lost interest in food and his eyes locked on a hired bartender mixing drinks. "I need a drink."

Wary, Krillin followed Vegeta to the bar and wondered what Bulma would say if she knew the drunk Saiyan was ordering a double rum and cola. The monk caught himself shaking his head in disapproval as Vegeta practically mainlined the drink, once again finishing the contents of his glass in two gulps.

The two shots of rum hit Vegeta harder and faster than he expected, and he felt the creeping anxiety vanish, completely replaced by a woozy, unfocused amusement tinged with anger at its very edges.

He talked to Krillin, who simply stared at him with a vague expression of disbelief. Then, after about ten minutes of the semi-managable dizziness, the rum really took hold and suddenly Vegeta knew he'd hit that awful point of no return. Gotta eat something, he thought, and turned away from Krillin.

Wobbling as he walked, Vegeta returned to the kitchen and hummed when he spotted a tray of plump shrimp and a bowl of spicy red cocktail sauce. The Saiyan practically parked himself at the kitchen table and started eating, his head drooping as he swirled a cold prawn's tail in the bright red sauce.

"Hey, Vegeta," Krillin pulled up a chair beside the Saiyan and tried to get a good look at him, "are you alright?"

Vegeta puffed and brought the shrimp up to his mouth. Clumsily, he ate, sucking extra sauce off his fingertips and sniffing loudly as he chewed. "M'fine..." his head drooped again and he went quiet for a few minutes before loudly inhaling through his nostrils, "Krill'n, y'deal withshit bett'r th'n mosht..."

At that moment, Krillin felt a deep current of pity run through him. He felt sorry for Vegeta- the Saiyan prince was struggling and he had no real Earthling frame of reference to rely on, nor did he have any other Saiyans to relate to.

"Say, Vegeta?"

Vegeta glanced up at Krillin and almost felt sick when the dots on the monk's forehead started to swirl. "Mm?"

"Do you... um, maybe want to hang out sometime?"

The Saiyan shut his eyes and his head dropped again. "Shhhure... buuhh-ddy."

* * *

After his second glass of water, sipped slowly while Krillin insisted he remained seated on the bathroom floor, Vegeta looked up and took three deep breaths before leaning over, head in the toilet bowl, and finally vomiting.

Krillin had decided it was time to intervene after Vegeta had eaten somewhere in the neighbourhood of eighteen shrimp and then declared it was time for another drink. When Vegeta stood up quite suddenly, he completely lost his balance and dropped back into his chair. Supporting the unexpectedly heavy Saiyan, Krillin directed him to the washroom and suggested they each have a drink... of water.

Down the hall, the party was in full swing. It was five after midnight. The Saiyan heaved again, bringing up just-eaten shrimp and a foul mixture of all the different kinds of alcohol he'd downed in just a few short hours.

Head turned away from the scene, Krillin leaned over and flushed the toilet the second he saw Vegeta rising in his peripheral vision.

"Ugh," Vegeta pushed himself into a seated position and leaned against the toilet, "that'shh better."

"I think you had a little too much tonight, buddy. But hey, I don't like New Year's either..."

Vegeta looked up at Krillin in surprise. "Y'don't?"

"Nah," Krillin eased himself down to sit on the floor near Vegeta, "I always felt it was a sort of depressing holiday. It made me feel really lonely for years."

Vegeta slowly nodded in understanding. "Think it sss-ucks no matter where y'are... New Years' is for stupid, happy people."

"Happy New Year, buddy."

"You too, baldie."

* * *

Head throbbing as he came to, Vegeta rolled over and realized he'd fallen asleep in one of the guest bedrooms, still in all his clothing from the night before.

Fuzzy snippets of Krillin easing him onto the bed and instructions to drink a glass of water flickered in the Saiyan's hazy recent memory. He vaguely recalled admitting to Krillin that he felt lonely and needed to socialize before passing out.

Vegeta cringed.

His stomach ached just as badly as his head, and his mouth tasted disgusting. Groaning, Vegeta forced himself to stand up and rubbed his forehead continually as he made his way down to the kitchen.

Bulma stood at the counter, tearing open packets of seltzer tablets with a particularly pained look on her face. Vegeta lazily tilted his head in her general direction, grunted, and dropped into a chair at the table.

"Drink this," Bulma set a glass of fizzing water at the Saiyan's place, "you'll feel better. I hear you overindulged a bit last night. As in, I literally heard you hurling. Looks like you learned your lesson, hm?"

Vegeta rolled his eyes (and instantly regretted it, finding it actually hurt to do so) and took a small sip of the fizzing water. "How was the rest of your party?"

"Oh, it was okay. More than a few people got really drunk. Don threw up in one of the potted palm trees. I'm a little worse for wear myself..."

Vegeta shook with silent laughter at the mental image of the big man kneeling before one of the palms and soon managed another sip of the fizzing drink. "I had the good sense to puke behind closed doors."

Bulma cracked up and lit her first cigarette of the morning. "Poor guy was so excited to meet you, too. He's terrified that he offended you now, based on how you treated him last night."

"Uuuugh," Vegeta groaned, "do we have to keep going over this? We went over this last night, I swear. I'll meet him to test out the fucking armour sometime this month. Let me nurse this hangover first..." the Saiyan took another sip of the fizzing drink. He still felt like hell, but he didn't want to vomit any longer.

"Well, we go back to the office on January third, if you're interested in coming in for a few hours. I'll even throw in an all-access pass to the employee cafeteria."

"Ugh, don't," Vegeta wearily put his hands up, "no talk about food..."

Mrs. Briefs emerged from upstairs, looking slightly tired but still cheerful and radiant as always. "Happy New Year, you two! What a great party, hmm?"

"Ugh," the couple grunted in unison.

After a warm shower and opting to laze around for the entirety of the morning, Vegeta felt his hangover fading just after one thirty in the afternoon, with the assistance of water, coffee, four slices of pizza, and the comfortable drone of the television with its volume turned down low as he dozed.

When the doorbell cheerfully (and loudly) chimed and shook Vegeta back into wide-eyed consciousness, he felt his stomach drop. A hazy memory from the night before hit him, and he was filled with regret.

"If you're up to it, Vegeta, maybe you'd like to join me on a walk tomorrow?"

I said yes to him, didn't I?

"Vegeta, honey, Krillin's here to see you!" Mrs. Briefs' voice floated into the living room and the Saiyan responded with a very loud, crackling groan.

Vegeta did get up to greet the human, begrudgingly reasoning that the human had very patiently taken care of him the night before. I'll pay back the courtesy he paid to me last night and we can leave it at that, he told himself, the fresh air would do some good anyway...

"Hey, Vegeta! How ya doin' today?" Krillin was predictably alert and friendly, which threatened to pull the Saiyan's nearly-buried headache back into the forefront. He was dressed for the weather in a parka, heavy trousers, boots, a knit cap and gloves.

"Uuuugh," Vegeta rubbed his temples, "so where are we going, baldie?"

"Valley Trail," remained cheerful, "a nice easy route. It's cold, so dress warmly!"

Vegeta groaned again as he went to the front closet.

* * *

"Hang on, you're telling me that you make enough money to equal what you pay in rent for six months by teaching a single class? And that class is taught three times a week, for just two hours?"

"Well, there's lot more involved than just the classroom work... and I teach more than one class... and I'm taking classes... and my family obligations..."

Vegeta hummed and adjusted his scarf to cover his chin. "Still sounds like you make decent money."

Krillin felt his brow crinkle. "Too bad you're not getting paid for your classes. A little pocket money, eh?"

"Wouldn't need it anyway," the Saiyan shrugged, "I already get dividends from Bulma's income. Not that I really spend much of it anyway. The woman brought in this accountant and he accused me of spending my money on useless things."

Krillin's curiosity was piqued. "Like what, exactly?"

"Apparently I spend most of the money on various takeaway restaurants, running shoes, and movie tickets."

Krillin burst out laughing. He couldn't imagine Vegeta visiting any sort of restaurant or stand, purchasing clothing in a store, and especially not watching a movie among the unwashed masses! "What the hell? Okay, I hate to be that guy, but you gotta name at least two movies you've seen in an actual theatre in the last while."

"The 80 Foot Boy VS Space Lizard and Ghost Pirates from Planet Zork."

"Those aren't real movies," Krillin kept laughing until he saw Vegeta looking very serious, "...right?"

"That little theatre, The Roxy, it's a dump and they show the worst movies I've ever seen. I've never been so thoroughly entertained before."

"Heh, never thought a prince would slum it at that kind of a place," Krillin looked over at Vegeta, a little wary, "you don't seem like the kind of guy who would go into any sort of theatre..."

Vegeta scoffed. "I see how it is. You take me for some sort of rube."

"Whoa! Talk about jumping to conclusions, Vegeta! I mean that you don't seem like the kind of guy who would really want to sit in a big room full of other people you don't know, and, uh, probably don't like..."

"Well, you're half right, I suppose," Vegeta hunched his shoulders when a gust of icy wind hit his face, "but the theatre is usually empty."

"Touche," Krillin smirked, "I don't know about you, but this fresh, cold air is making me thirsty. C'mon, there's a tea cart around here somewhere..."

* * *

The walk had done Vegeta some good, he determined, and after grazing on an array of leftovers (it had taken him years to get over the idea of "leftover" food being inferior) and watching the tail end of the evening news, he decided it was time to call Don.

It was a bit like ripping off a particularly strong bandage, he reasoned, you can either get it over with now or sit on it and have the woman bothering you about it for weeks on end. It will be a pain in the ass either way.

He'd found the man's business card tacked to the refrigerator with a magnet, read the name and contact information in the lefthand corner several times over while working up the nerve to actually call this strange and enthusiastic human, and heaving a sigh he finally picked up the phone. He figured the man would be more likely to answer his mobile phone, given the time and day,

The phone rang three times before a familiar voice picked up. "Hello? Bulma, is that you? You never call me from home!"

"No. You spoke with me last night."

A very awkward silence. "Oh... hello, Vegeta. How are you this evening? What a chilly way to begin the new year, huh?"

Vegeta sighed. He hated small talk. "Are we going to get this appointment set up, or should I just call back later?"

The Saiyan could practically hear Don scrambling on the other end of the line. "Uh, one moment! Let me get to my calendar," the shuffling of papers, "aha! Here we go, found my tablet," he trailed off into awkward laughter, "so, when are you free, Vegeta?"

Vegeta cringed and considered his week ahead. It was Tuesday, and Bulma was due to return back to work on Thursday. He had to see Ramirez on Friday, and figured he could always make a day of it.

"Do you work on Friday?"

"Of course, yes, I might be free this Friday..." Don scrolled through his calendar, "I'm available at twelve thirty, if that's fine with you? I think we'd need about... ah, two hours?"

His appointment with Ramirez was at eleven o'clock and wouldn't take more than a half hour. It left him with an hour to kill, and Capsule's corporate headquarters had a superb public restaurant on the fifth floor. "Fine. Friday. Twelve thirty until two thirty. Good night."

Vegeta disconnected the call before Don could open his mouth to reply.


	10. Chapter 10

Anger Management

Chapter 10

* * *

Picking at his nails, Vegeta raised his head just a few inches to shoot one of his stares at the obviously displeased Dr. Kim. "Are you really going to step on my dick about the drinking, too? I already heard it twice before today, Doc."

"I beg your pardon, Vegeta?"

"You heard me," Vegeta was now sitting upright, legs crossed tight and hands close to his chest as he continued picking his nails. He was only ten minutes into his hourlong session with Dr. Kim and it was already going badly.

"You know, I've been working with people for a long time and I've heard all sorts of colourful language, but I don't think I've ever had a client use the phrase "step on my dick" in the context I assume you're using it in..."

"Which is?".

"You don't want to be condescended to. I don't blame you, Vegeta. And if we're being blunt, I don't want to lecture you either. There are far more efficient ways to use this hour."

"Hmph!" Vegeta was a impressed with her straightforwardness. "Alright, then. So that was my New Year's Eve and its brilliant conclusion. All in all, another barely tolerable holiday season capped with one hell of a bad night. On a arguably positive note, I seem to have made a new friend."

Dr. Kim looked up from her pad of paper. "Arguably positive?"

Vegeta smirked. "He likes me far more than I like him, and he works at my wife's company so there's some benefits to this friendship for both of us. On the other hand, he insisted on taking me out to lunch and I really did not mind spending that hour with him. He's... interesting."

"How did you meet this gentleman?"

"New Year's Party. We were both really drunk, hence his insistence on buying lunch... I think. Bulma said I was, and I quote, "a total prick", to him. Thing is... she was insistent that I talk to this guy. I don't remember what I said, but apparently I got angry because he grabbed at my hands. I don't like people grabbing at me! It's fucking weird!"

"Sounds like he was trying to shake your hand, Vegeta."

"Yeah, that. I don't like that shit. It's an absolutely gross habit! I mean, have you ever seen how fucking grubby a little kid's hands get? Adults aren't any better."

"I see... this won't veer into "lecture territory", but how much did you have to drink at the party?"

Vegeta's answer came in the form of one derisive "ha!" Dr. Kim nodded and made a short note on her pad of paper. He lost count and can't admit it, she thought, I wonder if this has happened before...

"Do you plan to spend more time with your new friend?"

The Saiyan's arms drifted away from his chest and came to the armrests, although his legs remained crossed, he loosened up and sat back in his chair. "Yes, I suppose that will happen. He's designing equipment for me."

"What kind of equipment, Vegeta?"

"Protective gear. Unique material. You'll be seeing it on the market soon in more than few applications, so I'm told."

"This all sounds very interesting, and also a bit top secret considering how vague you're being about it. I won't pry further, but I am looking forward to seeing this new product."

Vegeta smirked. The little old woman was a smart one.

"I'd like to ask you about your alcohol use this holiday season, Vegeta. You've never talked about a binge before, so I wonder..."

"If I used it to deal with anxiety? Absolutely. And no, it's not a routine thing. Fuck, I knew we'd circle back to this topic... I like to have a glass of wine with dinner, or maybe a beer, but I don't really get drunk like I did at that party- and I thoroughly regretted it the next day."

"What happened the next day?"

"An... acquaintance of several years, who basically put me to bed after they kept on eye on me as I hurled in the washroom, came over to the house and we went on a walk."

"That doesn't sound so awful, Vegeta! They sound like a real friend. How long have you known this acquaintance?"

The Saiyan had to count backward in his head before he place the time, place, and his age. "Maybe five and a half years, off and on. I ran into him during my community service, which is horrible enough... and now he seems to be making this sort of effort to talk to me."

"Is there any reason you shouldn't consider socializing with him, if this person is taking time to keep on touch with you?"

Vegeta drummed his fingers on the armrest. "Not really. Don't like his wife, but we don't interact anyway."

"Vegeta, I think you should accept the offer of friendship. Nobody is an island. We all need connections and friendships."

The Saiyan growled but also nodded. His fingers were practically digging into the armrest now.

* * *

After experiencing a late-night hunger attack for the first time in more than a year, Vegeta slept past nine thirty and only woke at that time up because Trunks, home sick with the flu, approached his sleeping father and sneezed directly in his face.

So horrified by the idea of coming down with the flu that he couldn't even scream lest he inhale even more infected saliva, Vegeta carried his son back to his own room while breathlessly calling for his mother in law to care for the child, ran back to the master bedroom and into the en-suite washroom, starting a hot shower immediately.

Over a light breakfast, Vegeta sipped a large mug of hot water, lemon, and honey, took the herbal capsules his mother-in-law had recommended, and worried that he'd soon come down with that dreadful flu, which always seemed to knock him down every other year in spite of the annual vaccine he received. He didn't seem to be particularly affected by the common cold, unlike Bulma and his parents in-law, but influenza was a virus his immune system just couldn't fight off.

"Damn immune system," he muttered, "at least I haven't come down with any other nasty Earthling disease..."

"Hi honey, everything alright?" Mrs. Briefs looked at what her son-in-law was eating with a bit of disapproval- a single slice of dry toast- and went to pour a cup of coffee.

"Damn kid just had to sneeze in my face. I swear, if I get sick..."

Mrs. Briefs sat down beside Vegeta. "I guess you'll find out in a day or two if you got it, Vegeta."

Vegeta smirked. "And if I die, I'll know that little bastard really was a Saiyan after all, killing his father like this."

"Vegeta!" Mrs. Briefs tried to suppress her laughter, "you'll be fine! We go through this routine every winter, honey. If you're really concerned about getting sick, why don't you eat something proper so your body has lots of energy to fight off any bugs? We'll start with some poached eggs..."

"If you insist..."

The following afternoon, Vegeta walked downtown to meet Ramirez at his office, dressed in layers to combat the terrible chill in the air and in his suddenly aching bones. He'd woken up feeling fine- if he could make it until the next day, he might be spared after all.

Once in the probation office's waiting room, a place Vegeta truly loathed, he loosened his scarf and told himself he didn't really feel sweat beading up along his temples.

Sitting in the chair across the desk from Ramirez, he touched his forehead and wondered if he was getting warmer. That damn kid's gonna kill me before he can write a fucking sentence, he thought, all because he can't keep his germs to himself! He could barely focus on his weekly chat with the officer. His eyes drifted over to the spider plant hanging in the window, then to the potted aloe sitting in the corner behind the desk.

"Hey, Vegeta? You alright, man?" Ramirez looked at Vegeta and noticed he seemed pale. Not only that, but the typically quick-witted man seemed pretty out of it.

"Mm? Repeat the question. Please."

"Did you work in the past week?"

"Actually, yes."

"Can you elaborate on this, Vegeta?"

"Yeah," Vegeta nodded, now wondering if he was about to feel queasy, rubbed his stomach, "as a consultant for an engineer at Capsule Corporation. I tested out some sports gear."

"Okay, very cool," Ramirez typed something on his laptop, "are you being compensated, or is this pro-bono work?"

"Some deposit's set to arrive in a few days, I think..." Vegeta wiped his forehead again and found he was sweating. When the flu affected him, it hit the Saiyan hard and very fast.

"Go home, Vegeta," Ramirez didn't look up from his computer, "before you get me sick too. You sound like shit. You are maybe the only person I'd actually believe when they said they were sick, just saying... also, there's a drugstore just down the block when you turn left out the main doors."

After dealing with the flu on four separate occasions, Vegeta had a certain system worked out: hot baths with epsom salts, a lot of cool water to drink, a bright pink liquid medicine that stopped all but the worst GI disruptions, and small dosages of combination flu medicine tablets. He had a rhythm set up; bed rest, bath, more bed rest, medicines, sleep, wake up, medicines, bath...

He filled the shopping basket with his standard flu-fighting supplies before stopping by the huge drinks display to select a few things to break up the constant water drinking. He settled on a bottle of a dark and sweet fizzy soda, mango juice, strawberry kefir, and his favourite of all, sugarcane juice. His appetite would likely vanish and leave him dependent on the sugary drinks to keep things going.

By the time he made it home, Vegeta wasn't feeling so good. Without speaking a word to anybody who may have also been at home, Vegeta went upstairs and into the master bedroom, set the paper bag full of his supplies underneath his nightstand, pulled off all his clothing, and crawled into bed. He'd sweat it out in a bath later.

* * *

Four days later and on the mend, Vegeta sat on the couch with his knees to his chest and yet another mug full of soup in his hands. It was his third serving of tomato soup, probably the most he'd consumed in one sitting in close to a week. This was the fastest he'd ever bounced back from a bout of the flu and the Saiyan felt himself growing eager to resume physical activity. At any rate, he was getting sick of watching game shows; he only liked the one where the contestants could end up with a negative balance on their "winnings" by the end of the program.

"Phone call," Bulma came into the living room, dressed in her coveralls and heavy work boots, "Don wants to talk to you."

"Mm," Vegeta set down his light meal and took the phone, "I'll return your phone."

Bulma took it as her cue to leave the room. She hoped that Vegeta would continue to be civil- sometimes Vegeta would develop a sudden dislike for humans he didn't know well, seemingly triggered by nothing at all.

"Hello Don," Vegeta brought the phone to his ear and spoke.

"Heard you caught the flu. Are you on the mend yet?"

"Mostly. Why are you calling here?"

Don had started to accept and understand Vegeta's blunt manner of speaking didn't mean he was being hostile. "I could use more of your input when you're feeling up to it. The side panel on the torso armour is lighter now, I think the flexibility is much improved too, however I wonder about durability."

"Alright."

"Um," Don knew he was faltering, "when do you think you could come in for a test run?"

"Day after tomorrow should be fine. I want lunch for my trouble, so we meet at eleven o'clock. Take it or leave it."

Vegeta disconnected the call, set Bulma's phone down, and shut his eyes.

On the other end of the line, Don sputtered with shocked laughter, set down his phone, and looked at his calendar to see just whose appointment he would have to reschedule.

* * *

 _When another tray of multicoloured shots arrived at the table, Raditz immediately picked up two in each hand and threw back the rainbow of liquid into his open mouth, gulping it back and letting out a celebratory howl._

 _"Don't you ever save your money, Raditz?" Vegeta sniffed at a shotglass filled with bright red liquid and took a small taste. It was sticky sweet and clung to the roof of his mouth._

 _Raditz had been adamant that the three of them go out for a celebratory dinner after his incredible performance during their last mission. On top of their fair pay for a short mission with relatively little travel time, Raditz had earned an incredible bonus that surpassed total earnings Vegeta's threefold._

 _Now twenty two, Vegeta was fully grown, heavier than he'd ever been, and was occasionally surprised by his own power. His reputation had always carried a warning about his vicious temper, but now his anger seemed liable to slip out of his control and become something monstrous._

 _They had been out for close to six hours, and aside from some fried morsels of meaty insects earlier in the day, their diet had been entirely liquid. Vegeta was ravenous, drunk, and steadily grew angrier with his comrades._

 _"What, like I've actually got a future to plan for?"_

 _"Don't come crying to me when you can't afford replacement armour," Vegeta sneered, "but I suppose you could fashion something out of beer bottles and food wrappers."_

 _"Oh, lighten up," Nappa gave Vegeta a friendly tap in the arm, "Raditz got the biggest bonus out of the three of us for eliminating those pests in under thirty hours. He really carried us this mission, and Frieza was satisfied with our work, and now Raditz is being generous enough to show us a good night out."_

 _Vegeta finally took his shot, grimaced as it went down, and hissed at his two comrades. "Shoulda' been my bonus."_

 _"Quit being so jealous, Vegeta. You sound like a bitch," Nappa took a shot, "and the only pussy useful here is the kind we hire for a few hours. You fucked up this mission. You bit off more than you can chew yet again and paid the price. Get over it."_

 _Raditz laughed and toasted to Nappa with a wink. "To kicking ass and getting bonuses," he downed his shot and slapped the table with an open palm when the burn of the alcohol travelled down to his stomach._

 _"Hear, hear," Nappa took another shot before sliding one over to Vegeta, "you haven't even finished your last one! What gives?"_

 _"I want some fucking food, now," Vegeta pushed the shot away with enough force to spill roughly a third of the liquid, "quit drinking, and walk with me to a restaurant. Now!"_

 _"Fuck you," Raditz sneered, "they serve food here and it's air conditioned! Let's get a platter. I'm buying."_

 _"All night, kid," Nappa returned Raditz' expression, "you did good."_

 _Vegeta rolled his eyes and downed the red shot. Upon swallowing, his stomach lurched. If the drinks were this bad, he could only imagine what the food was like._

 _"Why are you in such a pissy mood, Vegeta? You're being a huge fucking downer, dude. I buy you drinks, smoke you out, and this is how you fucking behave? This is my party, bitch, and I didn't invite any whiny cunts tonight!"_

 _Vegeta lunged across the table, tackling Raditz and pulling him down to the sticky nightclub floor, bringing down the tray of shots and a near-empty pitcher of beer with them. A small crowd around them backed up, and then watched on, half wary and half entertained._

 _"What the fuck?!" Raditz managed to overpower Vegeta with a knee to the groin before straddling the significantly smaller Saiyan and slapping him across the face._

 _"Get off me!" Vegeta squirmed and tried to pull away. How could Raditz manage to have the upper hand at this point in their lives? "Get off me, you fucking drunk!"_

 _"No," Raditz sunk his weight deeper onto the Saiyan, right knee commencing a slow crush on the younger Saiyan's crotch, "not until you stop acting like a bitch. Keep up this temper of yours and I'm going to pin you down and force all of my dick up inside you when you're sleeping, prince."_

 _Lips vibrating with anger, Vegeta snarled through clenched teeth: "get. The fuck. Off of me. Now!"_

 _Raditz pulled his knee back before slamming it back between Vegeta's legs, slapped him across the face again, and finally rose to his feet, kicking the young Saiyan in the side upon standing to his full height._


End file.
